Also, pitchforks.

They’re actually size 13 knitting needles, but whatevs. Chopsticks is chopsticks.

I just asked Babypie, “What’s your name, little girl?”

Babypie said, “Duck.”

I said, “But I thought it was [Babypie]?”

She said, “It’s actually Duck.”*

I again said, “But you’re [Babypie]!”

She looked at me like she was thinking, oh poor, simply mother, patted her breastbone in an exaggerated fashion and said, slowly, “ME. DUCK.”

A couple minutes later, I said, “I need a picture of a girl named Duck,” which brought Babypie running in yelling, “Me! Me Duck! Me Duck!”

Here is an incredibly attractive picture of my girl called Duck:

*I ran this through Daddyman. “Did she just say, ‘It’s actually Duck’?” He agreed that she had.

1) Painted her hair with clear glitter nail polish
2) Colored her forehead with a deep rose colored lipstick
3) Made up her entire face with cream shimmer blush and Bare Minerals eye color.

She pitched a holy fit each time the make up was removed (or a removal attempt was made, at least). When asked if she is beautiful, she puts her hand up by her face and poses. Girl loves makeup. Fair enough. Tank loved body art and drew pictures all over his entire body quite a few times — and when I saw entire body, I mean it, from his hair to the soles of his feet, and all parts in between (including his genitalia on more than one occasion).

Here’s my little Tammy Faye Baker in the making:

When she’s been thirsty today, she has requested, “Wabwa and eyesh!” (water and ice) Plain water simply will not do.

I asked her what she wanted for dinner, and she thought very carefully about it, then answered, “Rice…and Papa!”

She brought me Captain Science’s biography of Christopher Columbus (an actual decent plague-and-slavery biography!) and said, “A beast, Mama! A beast!”

She found a discarded Christmas ornament that didn’t make it into the box before everything went into the attic. She spent the last hour carrying it around, mournfully asking, “Where tree go? Mine tree? Where go mine tree GO, Mama? Mine, Mama, mine tree go? Where go?” and making little sniffly sad sounds.

Dinner was over when she stated, “All done!” and tried to force-feed me her leftovers.

Tank’s favorite present was a giant wooden yo-yo. Captain Science’s favorite was a Fushigi anti-gravity ball. Babypie’s favorite gift was her Bitty Baby.

A little back story on the Bitty Baby: During the summer, we attended a friend’s birthday party. One of the other children in attendance had the blonde Bitty Baby. Babypie grabbed a hold of that thing and carried it around the entire party, protesting vigorously when the doll was extricated from her grasp (and by “prostesting vigorously,” I mean, “shrieking ‘Mine! MIIIIINE! MY BABY!’”). When Nana received an American Girl catalogue, Babypie pointed her chubby little finger at the Bitty Baby page and again stated, “Mine!” She specifically wanted the dark haired baby.

Well, Christmas rolled around, and of course, Nana gave Babypie the dark haired Bitty Baby. Babypie loves her baby. Loves, loves, loves her. She named the baby Water (because of Baby in the Water, also known as Ponyo, I’m sure). We change Water’s clothes (for bed, for waking, for leaving the house) and her diaper (sometimes ten times in a row, with Babypie checking it and declaring “Boop!” in between), we give her ninnies (sometimes I “nurse” her, sometimes Babypie “nurses” her). Water is carried around everywhere. I made a special bed for Water using an empty gift basket, a flannel doll blanket, and the doll quilt Nana made to go along with Water (matches Babypie’s quilt).

Everything about Water is awesome and perfect and good, except…

Her eyes close. And it freaks Babypie out.

It didn’t bother her at first. She was fascinated by Water’s opening and closing eyelids, kept poking her in them. Some time yesterday, however, Babypie decided that Water’s eyes must never close. Not ever. Not even a little bit. “Do you want to put Water to bed?” now results in a screamed, “No! No! No!” I have to ask if Water needs to go to bed sitting up (“Yesh.”) and position her so her eyes don’t close. Water “sleeps” with her eyes open.

I don’t know what to say about that, except that babies are weird.

Babypie. Water in a basket. Cuteness.

You will have the exact same conversation about thirty-eight times in one day. You will have the same conversation about twenty-two times the next day. You will have the conversation fifteen times the day after that. You will have the same conversation three more times before the next “same conversation” starts up.

Babypie has entered “same conversation” age with a fury this past week. Our conversations thus far have centered around two subjects, Ponyo and the driveway beast that poops in Babypie’s pants. Like I could make this stuff up!

We recently discovered Ponyo, the 2008 Miyazakii film, is available on Netflix instant watch. We’re huge Miyazaki fans and the boys have always loved Totoro, so we figured we’d give Ponyo a shot. It’s as adorable, if bizarre, as I expected. Ponyo in her fish state looks a bit like a Waldorf doll, which I find amusing. The boys enjoyed the movie a lot, but the one who has really become obsessed with Ponyo is Babypie.

Now, I’ve historically been a “no/limited TV for under 2″ kind of mom, but when you add that third kid, sometimes your standards slip a little. Babypie likes to sit with her brothers and watch a movie, even if she doesn’t watch it that closely. Ponyo, however, has been declared the greatest Babypie experience of all time. She calls it “Baby inna Wawa” (baby in the water) and talks constantly about the baby inna wawa, baby go byebye, baby aw’off, [Sosuke says] “MOM! MOMMY!”, Baby inna Wawa Mahmoum (baby in the water Ponyo). She tells me about baby inna wawa all day. If I don’t give the right responses (“That’s right! Ponyo does live in the water.” “Yes, Sosuke is very sad when he can’t find his mom.”), she will repeat the conversation louder and louder until I give them.

Yesterday, we upgraded to a second conversation, so at least I now have some variation. Every morning, I ask Babypie if she slept sweet and if she had dreams. Yesterday morning, she said yes, so I asked what she dreamed about. “Poop pants.” Oh, you dreamed you pooped in your pants? “Cow.” What? You dreamed a cow pooped in your pants? “Yes.” Ok, then.

Later in the morning, she declared, “Beast poop pants!” (She actually says “beat” and “boop” and “pans” which I think is cute) A beast pooped in Babypie’s pants? “Yeeeeeah! A beat!” What kind of beast? *points out the window* “INNA DIE-WAY!” A beast in the driveway pooped in your pants? “YEEEEAH!” Oh no! That’s terrible! “YEAH! BEAT BOOP PANS!” Oh dear, what a bad beast! “BAD BEAT! BEAT BOOP!” Yes, very bad. “Beat boop pans!” Really? You don’t say! “Beat inna die-way…”

I”m not sure which conversation I prefer, honestly. The beast one is funnier, but I do try to discourage poop humor. That’s parenting for you, if you are childless and ever wondered. Ponyo, beasts, and the same darn conversation over and over again.

Luckily, she’s an amazingly adorable little beast.

I must face the facts, however, and finally admit that Babypie is now a toddler. A full blown, personality larger-than-life, Princess Pitch-a-Fit toddler.

She was a fat, juicy 9lb 4oz baby:

A beautiful force of nature at a year:

Now she’s a 23 pound, lean, mean fighting machine:

So big that I’m pretty sure it shouldn’t be allowed:

And a right good dancer.