I was waiting to get some soup in the cafeteria at work the other day when I noticed Charles' boss standing in front of me.
We said hi, and then she gave me a funny look.
"How was Zoe's half-birthday?" she said.
And then, "By the way, what is a half-birthday and how do I get one?"
I cracked up.
Because...
Last Friday was Zoe's half-birthday (exactly six months after her normal birthday). We started celebrating her half-birthdays when she turned six months old, and we felt like celebrating the fact that we'd kept this tiny human being alive for a FULL SIX MONTHS. Also because I wanted some cake.
So we invited Charles' mom and my parents over for a little fiesta and we celebrated our little girl.
Since Zoe is (and probably always will be, barring adoption) an only child, and since real birthdays are few and far between, we've kept up the tradition, embracing any chance to once again celebrate our little girl.
On real birthdays, we do big parties, with big cakes, and we always measure Zoe on the height-wall. On half-birthdays, we do little family parties, cupcakes, and another measurement. Our wall is starting to look like yard-stick.
Since her half-birthday fell on a Friday this year, and since I don't work on Fridays, I decided that she and I would have a lunchtime picnic at a local park as a jumping-off point for the celebration. I was thrilled when Charles decided to take a half-vacation day from work to join in the fun. We built it up for Zoe all week and by Friday, she was Ready For Her Half-Birthday (Dammit!!).
Here are two highlights from our picnic at the park and some of the events that followed:
Zoe was having a great time at the park, but was struggling to make friends with another little girl who was maybe a little older than she. (This was because the little girl seemed to speak only Russian, and because she was eating lunch while Zoe was trying to play.) Undeterred, Zoe got louder and more rambunctious in her solo-play, and she started shouting something over and over. "Maria...Mushroom...Maria...Mushroom..."
Um...what? No matter how many times we asked her to repeat herself, all we heard was "Maria...Mushroom...Maria...Mushroom...".
Yeah, we had no idea what a Maria Mushroom is...
So we started speculating. Was Ms. Mushroom a character in a book they read at school? In a song? I was almost tempted to email Zoe's teachers to find out what was up.
And still, she continued, long after we'd come home, and even while we were out to dinner later that night.
"Maria...Mushroom...Maria...Mushroom..."
Finally, the following day, as Zoe was watching her current Favorite Episode Ever of Dora the Explorer (Rojo the Firetruck from Season 2, in case you wondered), we figured it out.
Several times through the episode, Dora asks her viewers to choose between two items. One is always yellow, the other is always blue.
And Dora is speaking in Spanish when naming the colors, of course.
"Amarillo...Azul...Amarillo...Azul..."
Oooohhhhh...."Maria...Mushroom..."
Mystery solved.
But there's one mystery that is still ongoing, leftover from Zoe's half-birthday. I like to call this one, "And WHY can't your new baby have a name, Zoe?"
You see, Zoe has very recently started showing interest in all things doll-like. We'd been sticking to stuffed animals (I can't help it...dolls creep me out!!), but when Zoe's teacher sent me a picture of her playing with a baby doll, I got it in my head that she needed one of her own at home.
We decided that a half-birthday was a perfect reason to buy Zoe her first official baby doll (for the record, she did already have a Cabbage Patch Kid, but they don't creep me out, so I don't count them in the baby doll category).
After dinner that evening, we ran into Target, where Zoe, Charles and I hemmed and hawed while trying to find the perfect baby doll. Zoe liked the ones that moved and talked and did other terrifying things, while I liked the simple bald-headed infant ones. Charles finally found the winner - a little girl baby with blonde hair and hippie-ish clothes.
Zoe has since taken this baby EVERYWHERE with her, in various stages of undress, of course (today, for example, she spent the day in Zoe's cubby at school wearing nothing but one shoe). She has gone to my parents house, to the grocery store. She sits in the car (in her stroller, no less) every day going to and from school.
But no matter how much Zoe appears to love this baby, she REFUSES to give her a name. We've tried suggesting all kinds of names, with no success. Emmy, Jessie, Madeline, Amy, Gabby, Wendy, Annie...should I go on? Charles likes weirder names, but Zoe vetoes every single one.
Want to know why? All you have to do is ask her.
"Zoe, what's your baby's name?
"She doesn't have a name."
"But why doesn't she have one?"
"Because she doesn't."
"Zoe, will she ever get a name?"
"Not until October comes."
Yep. Not until October comes. So we will have this nameless, vaguely creepy doll for ELEVEN MONTHS before she will at least gain an identity and therefore cease to be namelessly-creepy.
Sigh.
Not until October comes.
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