If you’re here from my article on Muslim Matters and are looking for further maternal wisdom, then please take note: this update has no purpose other than the documentation of the intolerable cuteness that is my 2.1 year old Musfira. You have been duly warned.
As expected of a third child, Musfira is louder, faster, and more intense than the siblings who came before her. You’d think that having raised two adorable savages before her that I would be harder to surprise and awe, but I can’t help it- Musfira surprises me and then I go awwww.
Today, as we were pulling in to the gas station, Musfira piped up from the back seat, “Momma, can I have e-plus full please?” Well, that’s what I know what she meant, but it actually sounds like, “momma, kinna haff e-pwuss foo peez?”
And then there was the time she tattled on Iman, who was saturating her bath with bubbles straight from the bottle- “momma, eeman pudda bubbos too much inna baff!” I had to go in and look stern and tell Iman to put the bubble bath away while inwardly giggling at the squeaky little accusation that brought me there.
Musfira doesn’t sound like a baby. She sounds like someone pretending to sound like a baby- she has a comically high-pitched little voice, and all the typical substitutions for consonants. Please isn’t please, it’s pweez. Khalid isn’t yet Khalid, he’s ka-lee. Musfira is… wait for it… moos-fwa.
It’s cuteness overload, and it disarms me when Musfira does things like say… draw on her self, the walls, floor, desk, and my computer with permanent marker, and then explain her work to me in her proudest little squeak: momma wook! happee buffday face!
Then there was the time when HF walked in on Musfira industriously scribbling on a wall. “Musfira, what is this??” HF asked angrily.
Musfira pointed to the scribble and said:
“Issa ‘asfoor, Baba. Tweet tweet?”
‘Asfoor is bird in Arabic. Obviously Baba. Tweet tweet.
Moos-fwa. She’s Baba’s little pwincess. She fights and bites and swings like a monkey from the rails of her elder sister’s bunk bed. She crawls around the house meowing and uses her devious little fingers to open purses, poke food in the refrigerator, and last week- accidentally lock herself into my bedroom.
She was supposed to be sleeping, but at roughly 9:30 last Thursday she was banging on the other side of my bedroom door with her tiny fists, begging to be let out. Having successfully climbed out of her crib, she turned the key- instead of the handle- in the door and began what would be twenty minutes of panicking in the dark while HF and I tried to figure out how to break into our own bedroom.
HF was contemplating smashing the window when Musfira accidentally unlocked the door- Alhamdulillah. She ran out -tear-stained, pink-faced, her eyes puffy- and into my arms, then HF’s arms, and then the arms of a friend of HF’s who had been with him when I called HF home from the masjid to help rescue Musfira… She was properly traumatised.
You would think she’d have learned her lesson, but two days later, I heard her little voice crying from the other side of the door. It wasn’t locked (we no longer keep the key in it) and as I pushed it open carefully, I saw Musfira blinking in the light- wearing HF’s shoes on her feet and HF’s socks on her arms. I’m not sure what she had been planning, but it must have been an interesting idea.
In a nutshell, that’s Musfira. She hasn’t gotten much attention on the blog because for the majority of her life to date, she’s been a squishy pink blob of adorable baby fat without much to report. However, as she’s growing out of her diapers and into her shoes as a fully-fledged toddlersaurus rex, she’s making our little home crazier, cuter, exponentially louder, and way more wonderful than I could have ever imagined. Yes, having three children under the age of seven is difficult, but it’s the funniest thing I’ve ever done with my life, and I adore it- and her for it. Alhamdulillah. 🙂