Recently, Polina turned 4 years old.  She came into the world during the peak of the annual Perseids meteor shower on Sunday, August 12, 2012 at 5:39 am Pacific Time.  (For more information about that day from NASA, click here.)  My husband woke me up shuffling around on his way to bed, and I never went to sleep alone since.

She was born ready to come into the world.  I was surprised by how strong and alert she was.  Within 10 minutes of being born, she grabbed the scissors that were used to cut her umbilical chord.  There is a video of her playing tug of war over the scissors with the midwife.

I was also surprised by how stocky she was for a newborn.  When the midwife handed her to me, she felt like a bowling ball.  I was expecting more of a feather pillow.  I handed her back because I was afraid I would drop her.  My arms felt so weak from pushing on them that I didn’t trust myself to hold her.  (I gave birth in the most comfortable manner I could find given the circumstances- on all fours.)

Polina was also born during a presidential election cycle.  Coincidentally, she sees herself pretty darn important.

She was also born during the Olympics.  One of my dear friends wanted me to name her “Olympia.”  But she didn’t look like an Olympia.  She had bright dark eyes, a full head of dark brown hair, and she was physically strong.  I wanted a name to reflect that, but I also wanted it to be feminine.

After three days of bonding with this third person, Peter and I independently sat at our computers (he at his desktop, me on my laptop) looking at girl’s names.  He wanted Samantha.  While I didn’t mind “Sam” or “Sammy” in English, I wanted a name that could also be pronounced in Russian.  There is no “th” sound in Russian, and I knew “Sami” would be pronounced strangely to my ear.  After looking at hundreds of names, I knew I found the one when I saw Polina.  I argued forcefully for it.  Deciding on a name together was probably as intense as negotiations for peace in the Middle East.  Two days later, five days after her birth, we agreed to name her Polina.  He got his choice of a middle name- Leigh, which happens to be the last name of one of my favorite actresses- Vivien Leigh.

As a baby, she was the center of our lives.  If anything was lacking, she would use that loud voice of hers to let us know.  Being a stay at home mom and living in an apartment above a family with two children, I accommodated all of her needs, lest I disturb my neighbors below any more than necessary.  Back in the day, I wrote about why I avoided saying “no” to my daughter.  How much more I know now.  It wasn’t until year number three rolled around that I began using “no” more directly.  She was occupying more of the world, beyond the boundary of where I could always say “yes.”

“I can’t believe she’s 4 already,” said my sister-in-law at her birthday party.  She didn’t actually call her “big,” but I know what she meant.  In my eyes, Polina is still little.  If the human life were the span of a 12 inch ruler, where would Polina be right now?  If an inch represented seven years, she would just be past the first half inch of the ruler right now.  That’s small.

[pullquote] It makes me cringe when someone calls any 4 year old “big.” [/pullquote] It makes me cringe when someone calls any 4 year old “big.”  Really?  Compared to what, a two year old?  Yes, they are indeed bigger, but in the grand scheme of things, they’re little.

Just today a five year old told me he’s big.  I told him no he’s not, he’s little.  He replied that his father told him he’s big.  I told him to tell his father he’ll be big when he turns 10.

I support the movement to preserve childhood.  I think we’re rushing childhood for our own convenience, or maybe, unfortunately, necessity.  I say unfortunate because it’s the most important job in the world, after securing nuclear weapons and environment and workplace safety (and some other hazards we don’t think about unless people mess up), and yet fewer and fewer biological parents can devote time to it.  It’s not so much their fault as the political economy of our country, but that’s another story.

My husband and I celebrated Polina’s actual birthday on a Friday evening at home.  I had chosen not to work that day because we were planning to go to the nearby mountains, but the abnormally sunny weather led us to start prepping the house for exterior paint.  We still have primary paint on the exterior that was painted after the new roof was put in two years ago.  I hugged Polina on my lap as Peter power washed the house with soap and water, then watched the dirt come off as he rinsed it.  Although we didn’t go out like we planned, I did spend the day with Polina while Peter worked.

I prepped for Polina’s party on Sunday the night before.  Since our house isn’t finished, we had it at a park that I visited beforehand, making sure I found a spot that wasn’t too hot and big enough for our party, which ended up being 11 adults and two children.  I prepared food from 8 o’clock pm to 2:30 am the night before, and I didn’t even finish all the dishes.  I had to beat the frosting by hand because Peter and Polina were already asleep, so it came out chunky.  I didn’t trust that the cake needed 3 cups of sugar.  It did.  Lessons learned for future years.  I figure a mom with two kids who are at least ten has 20 birthdays under her belt.  This is only my second time preparing food for my daughter’s birthday (as opposed to prior years when we went to the Indian buffet, where everyone can pick what they want.)

 

Where was Polina last year, and where is she now?

• Last summer, I won the potty training battle.  After numerous failed attempts at potty training, I sat on the floor of the bathroom and wouldn’t let her leave the room until she went on the toilet.  (She had told me she needed to pee.)  After a crying fit, she finally peed in the toilet, and it has been smooth sailing ever since.

Today, she asked to go into a bathroom stall by herself.  Since there were only two stalls, I     let her, and did my business in the stall right next to hers.  It was the first time I let her go inside a stall by herself.  We exited the stalls at the same time.  That had never happened before.

• Last summer, she spoke her first proper sentence.  We were in the bathroom again, oddly enough, and she said something about the lights needing to be turned off.  The minute she said it, all my fears about when she would start talking were abated.  I knew in that instant there wouldn’t be any difficulties with language.  I just knew in my gut from the way she said that one sentence.

Today, she converses with me easily in Russian and runs to her father to talk to him in English.

• This year, she is moving chairs to reach for what she wants.  She is able to entertain herself while letting us sleep in the morning.  She is not as addicted to movies as she was last summer when her father was unable to say no.  She asks for permission instead of demanding things.  She says “please,” “thank you,” and even “bless you.”  This summer, she began insisting that she be allowed to buckle herself in her car seat, and she does, successfully.

• Last summer, her tantrums pierced my soul.  I remember one of Polina’s Russian teachers commenting that she doesn’t react to tantrums from children anymore.  I didn’t think I would ever overcome the way Polina’s tantrums affected me.

Today, I can tolerate her tantrums a lot better.  I’m not so emotionally involved.  This doesn’t mean I don’t love her, which is what I feared would happen.  Instead, I see her tantrums as an inability to handle her disappointment any other way, not an attack on me personally, even though she cries, “Mama, Ma- Ma!”

She has also grown more accommodating.  Perhaps after seeing us work on our house almost every weekend this past year, she is  more understanding.  The value of work- isn’t that what the politicians talk about?  I think she knows that more than most four year olds because she has watched her father hammer and saw and he has allowed her to help with measuring, taping, and even painting.  She has always been a helper, and this year is no exception.

• I learned to recover better from her tantrums.  This summer, I felt a peace I never experienced before.  In between working on our house, Polina’s needs, Peter’s needs, my needs, my work, Peter’s work, Polina’s tantrums, my stress, Peter’s stress, Pete’s health issues, and, oh yes, another thing that’s broken needs to be fixed in our house, and oh yes, things are going to be tight financially this week, it has been a very trying few years.  I have felt overwhelmed at times.  But most recently, I feel a peace that feels like a gift.  As any parent or guardian of a child knows, they can put us through the trenches.  Maybe it’s from the battle scars we’ve been through, but I’m grateful that at 4, things are getting easier.