Two is a lovely age. Petra's a passionately interested and engaged participant in the world around her. She has a huge vocabulary and enjoys a conversation, any conversation about what's going on. She listens carefully when people talk to her and, after pausing to consider, gives very decided responses. Her no means no but her yes also means yes. She reminds me of me trying to understand and answer in Spanish – lots of concentration and pauses and short declarative sentences. She's much better at learning a language than me though. Her English far outstrips my Spanish already and her conversational skills are improving daily.
She offers a running commentary on what she's doing and what's going on around her. It's like living with my own pint-sized travel guide. Recently, we had lunch with a friend who was visiting from Sydney and Petra stopped mid-meal to point to Fiona and say "Lady," then to herself, "Petra," then to me, "Mama." Having sorted us all out to her satisfaction, she carried on eating.
She's also passionately attached to her people. She lists us, draws pictures of us (we have a couple of nice purple scribbles on the wall in Travis's office that apparently represent her aunt Lala and cousin Libby – I haven't had the heart to wash them off yet), and makes up stories about us all. Aunty Lala is particularly special. Last time we all went out together, Petra made sure to sit beside Carla and spent the meal with one sticky, food-covered hand resting against Carla's leg. And it's always a tragedy when Carla goes home. Petra gets quieter and quieter, then her lip drops, then she sobs and sobs – "I've lost my Lala." she cries, "bit sad, lost Lala." It's heart-wrenching. Cousin Libby is hot stuff as well. She's two years older than Petra and is the recipient of some baby hero-worship.