If Brigid Doesn't Say Your Name, Does it Mean You Don't Exist?

Poor Brigid didn't have a very good night last night. It started out fine. She told me after dinner she wanted her bath, or, as she says, "Baach, Baach." It took me just a second to figure out what she was saying, but the timing was right and she was full of dinner, so I said, "Yes, you can have your bath," and she went running to the hallway door to be let up the stairs, so I know I got the right word. She clammored up the stairs with me directly behind her, with her saying "Baach, baach," all the while. She patiently waited for me to get the water started and to get her clothes off, and then she got in and had her bath. She loves her bath. All the while, I kept telling her to let me know if she had to go potty after having success the other night on the big-girl potty. But no, she didn't have to go so she just continued playing happily in the water. We were both soaked and pruney by the end of it, Brigid from being in the water, me from being splashed with water, so it was time to get out. Again, she had no interest in going and showed no sign that she had to.

She had about a half-hour of naked time downstairs, all the while I kept after her, "Potty? Potty?" but no, she didn't need to sit. I got her in her diaper and pjs, and she went down to bed easy enough. The last several nights have been great -- with her going down without incident, awake and happy to be in bed. Last night was no different. But about 2:30 a.m. she was crying. I thought it was too early for her to be stirring so I tried to let her settle herself back down, but a half-hour later she was still crying so in my stupor and grogginess, I got her and brought her into bed with us. She wanted to nurse, but was very, very restless and uncomfortable. She would nurse, then fling herself about and cry. I picked her up and realized she smelled pretty poopy -- acidic poopy. So I brought her into her room and she was beside herself in discomfort. I turned on the light, got her out of her diaper and she had such a bad diaper burn, it's no wonder she was crying. I let her sit on my lap on a towel to let the air get to her a little bit, but when I tried to put some cream on her, she cried even harder. Her little bottom was very angry and red. I was finally able to get a cream-coated diaper on her and get her back in pajamas, but she did not want to go in her crib. She slid off my lap from where we sat on the big chair -- mind you, I'd turned off the light and it was dark in the house now, it being 3:30 a.m. -- and she took my hand. Without saying a word, she walked us back into our room and stood by the bed, wanting me to put her in with us, which I did. She nursed a little, squirmed a little, and finally fell asleep after 4. I got some sleep, but by 6 a.m. she was stirring again. She dozed on and off and was awake again just as I was about to leave with Margaret. Daddy said she has not been herself this morning, with frequent bouts of crying and obvious discomfort. He's tried his best to keep her creamed up, but it's pretty red. If it doesn't reverse itself later this afternoon, I'm going to call the doctor's to get advice on a better cream to use that won't a) burn her even more upon application; and b) clear it up much faster than the OTC brand we use. She's never really had a bad diaper rash before but anyone would get a rash from sitting in that acid bath that was in her diaper.

In other news, she continues her love affair with Shrek, having both One and Two memorized to the point where she sings along with the soundtrack and says some of the lines. She sat yesterday with Patricia, whom she calls Pa-tat, and held her Shrek doll that Aunty Shell gave her, holding him up at appropriate moments, saying, "Shrrrreek." I'm trying to indoctrinate her into the Toy Story world to expand her horizons.

And, last night in her bath, she finally identified me as Mommy by name, although it sounds more like Mamee. Margaret was doing the Who's That test, pointing to herself, pointing to me, and she said it. Twice upon request. But even more, she has moved into the stage of self-awareness. She has long pointed to herself when we ask, Where's Brigid? But earlier yesterday, she did her pointing and identifying, "Ma-get, Pa-tat," and to herself, she pointed inwardly and said, "Bi-get." We were all thoroughly impressed and gave her the necessary applause so that she repeated the pronouncement to our delight. We all have names and so, we exist. It's a good feeling.