Toddler Turns Two
Celebrating Motherhood. And spoons.
1+1
Yay! Our child is two. I’ve graduated to toddler wrangler. Two years of motherhood has made me good at things like,
Doing push-ups. CubCub is almost 30lbs and my upper body strength is lit.
Packing. Tell me the duration of play, wind direction, sun conditions, number of hours in transit, access to bodies of water, and I can pack a kit that exceeds the essentials and lands somewhere between prepper and executive assistant territory. Got extra diapers? Why not a swim diaper, too! Need a change of clothes? It’s a matching set that I thrifted! Coloring books? Here are markers in only colors that CubCub likes: purple, brown, and a slightly different purple! And the ultimate category, the extras, that no-one-asked-for-this stuff: Tape measure in the shape of a bear, hair tie, hair clip in the shape of a lemon, Little People figurine, 4 x Magnatiles, chain necklace, Yoto with cards du jour, mineral sunscreen, hat in correct size, socks in correct size, change of clothes in incorrect size (just kidding, who do you think I am?), spinny helicopter thing, Rubik’s cube, Mr. Brown Can Moo!, hand sanitizer, toddler sunglasses, plastic bag, straws cut down to 4”, kid spoon.
Oh, spoons. Quick rant ahead.
Most spoons you may find at [Meijer / Target / Generic U.S. box store Near U] meant for kids seem to have been designed for the good of exactly zero babies and parents.
Behold this line-up of cutlery that CubCub has tested across soft and solid foods, below. Since writing this, we have yet more spoon specimens, but they’ll go undocumented for now.
The best cutlery we’ve found isn’t off-the-shelf in the baby aisles. From left to right, we’ve had success with utensils that have real depth and forks with tines that actually spear food. The farthest left pieces are a cocktail fork and teaspoon ($1.29 each at Pick ‘n Save). They’re weighted well, with short handles for balance, and make our toddler feel like she’s mirroring what grown-ups use at the table. You can buy them free of plastic packaging (or similar ones at a Goodwill). They don’t come in a rainbow pack of 4. They’re dishwasher safe. The middle pieces were excellent training tools — they are the optimal (short) length and have a slight curvature that fits with how infants actually clutch things and bring food to their mouths. With surprise to no one, the green and pink ones are from Japan. The longest spoons on the right, whilst fine for feeding babies purées, often had missions of their own. The orange one in particular seemed programmed to slip, leap, roll, and catapult with gusto. It won’t prop against a bowl or plate, let alone sit on a flat surface, without doing a cartwheel. And the blue spoon is basically a spade with a hat on. At a weird length. Who is it for?
Back to what I’ve gotten good at.
Design thinking for kids. The spoon rant illustrates how I see objects and space now through the combined lens of sensory play + ergonomics for a growing, small body. I like this lens. I’m more sensitive to how objects are made. Will that painted surface chip or fade? Does that hard plastic float? How quickly will that shoe dry? Does that thing have a hole, does it stretch, will it jangle?
Parcelling my own activities into thimbles of time. Sheila Heti writes in Motherhood, “The most womanly problem is not giving oneself enough space or time, or not being allowed it. We squeeze ourselves into the moments we allow, or the moments that have been allowed us. We do not stretch out in time, languidly, but allot ourselves the smallest parcels of time in which to exist, miserly. We let everyone crowd us… But doesn’t having children lead to the most miserly allotment of space and time? Having a child solves the impulse to give oneself nothing. It makes that impulse a virtue. To feed oneself last in self-abnegation, to fit oneself into the smallest spaces in the hopes of being loves — that is entirely womanly. To be virtuously miserly towards oneself in exchange for being loved — having children gets you there fast.”
Even though I’m actively working to celebrate and lift up ‘other virtues’, I find myself mired in this virtuous mother narrative that revolves around tiny increments of time and space, in a mosaic of dazzling complexity, that I alone orchestrate, deftly, quietly, to a crowd of one.
Me. I’m the crowd. I’m showing myself that I’m a good mother worthy of good things because I can spin plates and pack bags and dash off invoices and write newsletters. And do I like it this way? Do I sit in this narrative comfortably, sadistically, because I know society likes me this way, so I am allowed to like myself this way?
Ben’s been advocating (insisting, sweetly) that I take time out for myself. Go see The Odyssey. Roam the library. I’m the one who declines (insisting, stubbornly) to sink deeper into my throne of virtue. Busyness is my excuse. I wear it like armor.
I’m weeks late on an art deadline and have written this Substack, in drips and drabs, over four sessions. I’m typing maniacally as CubCub naps, with my head on a swivel, attuned to her snores and twitches. She’s sick. I’m vigilant. My train of thought on what to write next is on auto-save. My brain is a constellation of dog-earred action lists.
Friendship. I think I’m better at making friends and, maybe, at being a friend (?) since becoming a mom. My texting may be spottier, my physical time to “just hang” is wiped, and my lead time is measured in weeks. But I’m stronger at just being me, prioritizing friendships that are serving me in the way I need right now, giving my spirit generously, and letting my presence with someone be enough — wow, enough — to fill a sail.
Whether you’re a mother or not, I hope you can relate to this. Taking a smilestone (typo but I’m keeping it) like someone’s birthday as reason to check in. See what you’ve gotten stronger at. Look at what narratives are at work and whether you find yourself enough. See how your spoon drawer makes you feel.
Euro Summer
BearBear is on holiday now through August 16. We’ll ship orders upon return.
We’ll visit my old high school pal, Richard Wood, who runs Rizzo Studio in Norwich, attend a different high school friend’s wedding in London, and explore the Marché region of Italy with yet more friends from high school. I attended International School in Hong Kong for 10 years. My friends from that period are scattered across the UK with satellites in Europe, China, Thailand, Australia, and the U.S.
I connect with them whenever I stamp my passport. Or, better yet, if we choose to make a zine together.
Studio Notes
1 seat left at Riso Basics 8.29. Buy ticket here
Save the date! Moms and non-binary parents are in for a bloomin’ treat 10.17
New Eau Claire riso print is available here
Riso scrap packs to catapult your junk journalling into outer space are now shipping
Our periodicals were funded by the Open Fund 2026 cycle, through the Poor Farm, with funding from The Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts and Ruth Foundation for the Arts. Ben and I are artists first, bears second. Ben’s “Meal Train” and my “Other Virtues” issue #2 are planned to have free, public launch events thanks to this project support. More soon. And humble thanks.
Final Scene
Aloe vera & Chippewa river,
Diana