The other night we threw down the "Almond Milk" gauntlet. No "Almond Milk" unless she finished her dinner. And by finish we meant eat all her rice and at least one bite of tofu and one bite of greens. Screaming, tears, desperate attempts to get each parent to understand the injustice of the other parent. "Daddy!!! Mommy said nooooo!" "Mommy!!! Daddy said eat tofu!!!" Big, big rolling tears. Finally, dinner was abandoned and she went to bed with water.
Yesterday, she said she wanted to dance. She put on her ballet costume asked for "dancing music" and then made precise circles around the apartment while making complicated faces that I'm pretty sure come from her Odissi Dance youtube clips.
She is still, as these things go, not especially verbal, but when she does talk it's very precise and the grammar is really strange. We have all been so sick for the past week, and most of her conversations involve imaginary trips to the doctor. "I am the doctor. You are sick? OK. Here is medicine. You feel all better. Desmond go to doctor. He feels much better. Orange doll is doctor. OK. Here you go. Now you feel much better." And so on.
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