21, 22, 23...2!

That is, in fact, sequential counting if you're talking about the age of a toddler. Today Edith turned 23 months, the last point at which one traditionally refers to a child's in months. On May 5th we'll switch over to year-units: She will be TWO, and our answer to the age question will stay the same for a long time. Sigh.

Don't know if two is too early for them to come calling, but if any of the multiple national intelligence agencies were looking to keep a close eye on me, they'd do well to contact Edith. She doesn't miss a trick these days:

When we went to Dawn's wedding I wore high heels, something I try to avoid as much as possible. Edith probably wears my heels to clomp around the house more often that I wear them these days. Observing me set off down the hall in them, she asked, "Broken foot, Mommy?"

Edith also rarely sees me floss my teeth. Yes, I'm sure I'm on the National Dentists' Association Flossing List of Shame, judging by the regularity with which I get the flossing lecture at dental appointments. But the other night I was doing my civic dental duty for once, while Edith watched this unusual activity with furrowed brow. As I rammed the floss between each pair of teeth, slicing into the gum more often than not, Edith shook her head. "Too tight, Mommy."

Yesterday I feared that Edith even had been working on counterfeiting my signature. We picked up one of her books, on the cover of which the author's signature appeared. "Says Gechen Boguh," announced Edith, pointing to it. I was mystified as to how Edith recognized a signature for what it was, even if she didn't get the particular scrawl quite right. "Maybe she has watched me sign checks," I suggested to my brother. "How does she know that what you're signing is your name?" Peter asked. "Do you read your writing out loud?" Good point.

The mystery was solved when Tom told me that he has been pointing out my name written inside the cover of all the children's books on Edith's shelf that once were mine, telling her that these books used to be Mommy's. So she evidently associates a handwritten line in a book with my name.

In other news, we are a little concerned that Edith's relationship with Harrison is moving too fast. We were relieved to learn the other day that Edith had stymied the foolish teasing of her teachers at school, asking her which boy in the class was her boyfriend, by telling them that the boy she loved best was Daddy. But a few nights later at the dinner table, she announced out of nowhere, "Heh-son's wips." We sought more information, but all we got out of her was repeated reference to Harrison's lips.

The next night at dinner it was "Heh-son likes Edith," with a big smile.

Meanwhile, in the Hackett household...

Harrison evidently has declined to sleep in his new toddler bed the last few nights, sleeping on the floor next to it instead. Trying to determine the source of the reluctance, his parents asked him if he liked the bed. He said he did. They asked if he wanted to sleep in it, and he said he did. Then they asked why he persisted in sleeping on the floor. And he explained to them, "Bed for Edith."

Tom is researching chastity diapers right now. Given her teachers' zeal for the flowering of a romance, we don't want to take any chances.