scrawls.

scrawls

still cheaper than therapy*

15.7.08

forty-one weeks

You pull up on things, and it has become your new favorite - all the time, you are pulling up, on the futon, on the crib, on my pant legs. On the hair on Daddy's knees, which makes him wince. Most of the time, or some of the time, you can sit back down again, and you aren't really browsing along furniture very efficiently at all yet so if you want to move, you sit, and crawl, and then pull up again.

And, you are crawling. The classic, hands-and-knees, real proper crawl. Still not very quick with it so you usually crawl for a few feet and then sprawl out, land on the tummy, and do your army thing. Soon we hope your belly will be picking up that much less dog hair - Mommy can sweep every day and there is just always more of it, always, more, and more, and some of it is in singles and some of it is in clumps, and even just after i sweep there is more. Just after i vacuum. Mop. Anything. Even after we Furminate the dog, after we go to the park and pull everything off her that we can pull off, there is more, and we just try to minimize the dog hair that you actually eat. I don't think it is a losing battle, really, but it borders a little bit on the exhausting and a whole lot on the ludicrous.

I have to go through your clothes again, because the adorable farmer overalls that fit you last week are about to be too small now, so today will be the absolute last time you wear them and then they'll go in the donating bag. The bag that also holds, now, the pajamas that were gigantic on you, like, yesterday. They were far too big, far too big, and now they barely fit over your head - this is one of the ways clothes get too small, they get too short in the limbs or too short in the length (in the case of onesies and overalls) and quite often the head-opening gets too small, and the way you wail when things are on your head, if the head-opening is just a little too small it is a Very Bad Thing. There was at least one shirt that said it was supposed to be eighteen months, i think, except the neck bit wasn't stretchy enough so you hated putting it on and fought, every time, trying to get it back off your head, and you're stronger than you look so it's quite a struggle, getting something on when you want it off, so that shirt, the orange one with the lizard on it that was really pretty cute, and the brown one with the white flowery henna-y pattern, too, actually, and several others that just didn't have enough stretch in the neck, Gone. All gone. Somebody else whose kid has a smaller head can have them. Not us.

Your hair is growing, slowly. Veerrryyy slowly. And you still have just a little bit of cradle cap underneath, high up in the front. Just a square inch, maybe two. So the area of it is going down, because it's not just your head getting bigger.

You have figured out how to play peek-a-boo on your own, with the blanket, with my shirt, with a towel. You hide and then very quickly come out again and grin and giggle and Mommy melts, and you never hide for more than a second, and it is the cutest thing i have ever seen, not least because i love the print on the Ikea duvet, but that really has very little to do with it, who am i kidding. And we have a sort of a pull ladybug toy - the one the nice people at Austrian Airlines gave us - that you pull on this leafy tail thing, and then it goes brrrrrr and wiggles, and you have figured out how to make it go.

Other things you have figured out: you are a fan of the carbohydrates. Like mama. Pasta, rice, potatoes, bread, anything you can grab and stuff in. When you are full of babyfood puree and water and then if we put pasta in front of you, spirals or ziti or shells, you will put them all in your mouth, by god. We take the skins off the potatoes for you, i don't think you can quite do the skins yet, but you'll get a big lump of potato, no sauce, no gravy, but i think it still tastes like paprika and onion and garlicky salty sausage, and you put it all in your mouth and your little baby cheeks bulge out even more and you grin and there are little bits of potato between your fingers and crumbledy smears on your shirt and you are so happy.

And what i mean when i say, you are so happy, is really, and so am i, little love. So am i.

Labels: baby, mamadom, milestones

scrawled @ 08:41