It's not the Queen's English, not by a long stretch. In fact most of it could not properly be thought of as English at all. But it gets its point across.
Sydney learned, a few weeks ago, to say 'no'. She's been shaking her head 'no' for quite awhile, so it was almost an afterthought when the word came out of her mouth, an emphatic, clear, beautifully simple 'no' which, though I knew I'd come to regret it later, I promptly encouraged. Now she uses the head shake for a different purpose, to indicate that she knows the thing that she is saying and the thing that she is pointing to are not the same. For instance, a hand straight up to the ceiling, a shake of the head and the spoken word: "baby" means: "There are no babies on the ceiling."
It's true, too. There aren't.
"Shoe!" she told me in a plaintive sort of way, the other day, having lost one between the cushions of the couch. "Shoe! Shoe!" she continued to whine, until I retrieved it for her. "Shoe!" she said, relieved.
But we're not done with the language feat yet. She continues to surprise us with just how much she understands, now that she can tell us, in her limited way. We were talking about the kids she'd see tomorrow in playgroup, and we mentioned one rambunctious child by name. "Bmp!" Sydney said, with a sorrowful expression and her hand on her head. I knew immediately what she meant, "yes, he's kind of bumpy, isn't he? But he doesn't mean to."
"Wow!" my husband said. That was a leap we hadn't quite expected to make, given that we're still just on nouns, yet. Perhaps perceiving she'd blown our minds, Sydney safely retreated to known territory, pointing to the ceiling and shaking her head. "Baby!" she said.
No, there's no babies up there. I'm not sure there's any here.
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
Sunday, November 02, 2008
The Young and the Binkiless
Time flies, even when you're in the midst of the largest poopy diaper you have ever seen.
And sometimes, when you're having fun, too.
This past week we made a trek via airplane to St. Louis to visit my brother and his wife. Just two years ago we swore up and down to each other, pray God to strike us dead if we didn't, that we would never, ever, ever take Sydney anywhere which required flying until she was 18. Fortunately we didn't specify the unit of time.
At 18 months, Sydney isn't saying much, but what she does say speaks volumes. For instance, if one of your only words is "hat," you will make sure that everyone around you knows that the world is full of hats. Lately the fullness of the world is divided between hats and shoes, and the newest addition, cars, threatens to push hats off to the sidelines. Planes aren't cars, though. No, planes are items which, though fun in theory, are a bastion of pure toddler torture. All these people to smile and play peek-a-boo with, a full aisle to walk up and down, and a Fasten Seatbelt Sign on for most of a turbulent flight. What could be worse?
Still it wasn't all bad, especially the Itsy Bitsy Spider with Aunt Stephanie, and the chimpanzees Sydney struck up a conversation with at the zoo, and the long, long message she managed to leave on our home answering machine, after somehow successully dialing our number on the cell phone. Her first attempt didn't make it out of St. Louis. That's because she dialed Uncle Nathan, who was driving.
Anyway, we're back. We're out of the "car". We've bought a new "hat" (it says St. Louis Zoo). We managed, we think, to bring everything and everyone back, even though we lost the parking ticket at the airport. Note to my childless friends out there: Yes, children are a lot of work. But everyone sympathizes with you when you have one. If you can stand the 3 o' clock sleepless night and the 4 pm tantrum for no reason, then having a kid will get you places. And then nice people will help you get out of those places.
Having a kid will make your blog entries schizophrenic, too. Oh well. Can't have everything.
And sometimes, when you're having fun, too.
This past week we made a trek via airplane to St. Louis to visit my brother and his wife. Just two years ago we swore up and down to each other, pray God to strike us dead if we didn't, that we would never, ever, ever take Sydney anywhere which required flying until she was 18. Fortunately we didn't specify the unit of time.
At 18 months, Sydney isn't saying much, but what she does say speaks volumes. For instance, if one of your only words is "hat," you will make sure that everyone around you knows that the world is full of hats. Lately the fullness of the world is divided between hats and shoes, and the newest addition, cars, threatens to push hats off to the sidelines. Planes aren't cars, though. No, planes are items which, though fun in theory, are a bastion of pure toddler torture. All these people to smile and play peek-a-boo with, a full aisle to walk up and down, and a Fasten Seatbelt Sign on for most of a turbulent flight. What could be worse?
Still it wasn't all bad, especially the Itsy Bitsy Spider with Aunt Stephanie, and the chimpanzees Sydney struck up a conversation with at the zoo, and the long, long message she managed to leave on our home answering machine, after somehow successully dialing our number on the cell phone. Her first attempt didn't make it out of St. Louis. That's because she dialed Uncle Nathan, who was driving.
Anyway, we're back. We're out of the "car". We've bought a new "hat" (it says St. Louis Zoo). We managed, we think, to bring everything and everyone back, even though we lost the parking ticket at the airport. Note to my childless friends out there: Yes, children are a lot of work. But everyone sympathizes with you when you have one. If you can stand the 3 o' clock sleepless night and the 4 pm tantrum for no reason, then having a kid will get you places. And then nice people will help you get out of those places.
Having a kid will make your blog entries schizophrenic, too. Oh well. Can't have everything.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Walking on Water
First it was a few hesitant steps before falling back down onto the floor. Then it was a few more steps here and there, when Sydney didn't have any place important to go. Then all of a sudden, one day, like a switch had been thrown in her head, it became the dominant method of locomotion.
The Sydney walketh.
The entire process between the first few steps and the actively walking toddler took about two months, belying my romantic notion (and really I should know better by now) that these things just happen one day and then you're on to the next milestone, say, speaking words that make sense to the adults around you.
The pinnacle of the walking saga so far has been the walk we all took on the weekend, complete with dog, stroller and baby. On the way out Sydney was content to be wheeled about but on the way back she insisted on getting out. Once out, she insisted on getting down. And then she walked--marched, more like-- all the way back home.
Uh oh.
The Sydney walketh.
The entire process between the first few steps and the actively walking toddler took about two months, belying my romantic notion (and really I should know better by now) that these things just happen one day and then you're on to the next milestone, say, speaking words that make sense to the adults around you.
The pinnacle of the walking saga so far has been the walk we all took on the weekend, complete with dog, stroller and baby. On the way out Sydney was content to be wheeled about but on the way back she insisted on getting out. Once out, she insisted on getting down. And then she walked--marched, more like-- all the way back home.
Uh oh.
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
Gray Anatomy
Years ago while I was still in high school, and the specter of having children was at least a ways off if possible at all, I entertained my friends with the notion that should I ever have children I would inflict upon them a language no one else would understand, though it would still be English. I would do this by teaching them that a knife was a "fork", a spoon a "bowl", and so forth. Of course I myself would have to learn this new language to really be consistent about it, but that didn't factor into my fantasy. I just thought it would be funny.
So these friends might think this is only karma.
Sydney and us are at the point where limited but emphatic conversation can occur. "Do you want to read a book?" will be met with an enthusiastic nod. "This one?" --another nod. "Do you want me to read it? Or Daddy?" -- another nod (the multiple choice question is usually where the conversation breaks down). Occasionally there is something which does not meet her approval and she will vigorously shake her head to indicate her unwillingness to take part.
So we've embarked on a somewhat serious effort to impart the knowledge which was passed down to us. I decided to start with body parts.
"This is your eye! This is your nose! This is your mouth! This is your ear! ..." and so on. Then I'd ask her to show me where the body part was. Until recently, I've been met with a blank, disinterested stare before Sydney would turn away to show me something much more interesting, like her stuffed dog. But the other night we finally had a breakthrough: when I asked Sydney where she thought her nose might be, she confidently and enthusiastically patted the body part she thought I wanted. Surprised, I asked her again, with the same result.
Here it is folks: Sydney's nose is where most people might think her right ear would be.
So these friends might think this is only karma.
Sydney and us are at the point where limited but emphatic conversation can occur. "Do you want to read a book?" will be met with an enthusiastic nod. "This one?" --another nod. "Do you want me to read it? Or Daddy?" -- another nod (the multiple choice question is usually where the conversation breaks down). Occasionally there is something which does not meet her approval and she will vigorously shake her head to indicate her unwillingness to take part.
So we've embarked on a somewhat serious effort to impart the knowledge which was passed down to us. I decided to start with body parts.
"This is your eye! This is your nose! This is your mouth! This is your ear! ..." and so on. Then I'd ask her to show me where the body part was. Until recently, I've been met with a blank, disinterested stare before Sydney would turn away to show me something much more interesting, like her stuffed dog. But the other night we finally had a breakthrough: when I asked Sydney where she thought her nose might be, she confidently and enthusiastically patted the body part she thought I wanted. Surprised, I asked her again, with the same result.
Here it is folks: Sydney's nose is where most people might think her right ear would be.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Venturing Outside
My husband came home from a trip to the dump to the sounds of his daughter screaming in the wilderness, as if she'd been abandoned in a cave, or her arm had been cut off, or she was surrounded by hungry bears about to tear her from limb to limb. Concerned, he rushed towards the sound, only to confront his wife coming out of the field, holding onto their struggling, protesting daughter.
"What happened?" he asked.
"I picked her up," I replied.
Sydney has discovered the Great Outdoors; the infinite wonder of leaves, dirt, bugs, and worms. And she loves it so much that she will stay there, thank you, until she's had her fill. Never mind the black flies, the sun, the inclement weather, or the fact that its time to go eat dinner.
While we take in the whole landscape, noting the little baby on the big lawn, she's examining the minute details of grass, dead leaves, a baby-hand-sized rock which she's found hiding under the grass. She will reverence these objects for long moments, and then, as a final compliment, she will put them lovingly into her mouth, a kind of reverse engineering; I like you, therefore you must be edible.
As with all new things this too will become old hat, and we'll see her start walking through puddles, running over fields, walking into the forest, climbing up mountains. But for now the kid is rooted in one spot, endlessly picking at the growing grass. If I could only pick her up and move her to another location without causing World War III, I almost wouldn't have to mow.
"What happened?" he asked.
"I picked her up," I replied.
Sydney has discovered the Great Outdoors; the infinite wonder of leaves, dirt, bugs, and worms. And she loves it so much that she will stay there, thank you, until she's had her fill. Never mind the black flies, the sun, the inclement weather, or the fact that its time to go eat dinner.
While we take in the whole landscape, noting the little baby on the big lawn, she's examining the minute details of grass, dead leaves, a baby-hand-sized rock which she's found hiding under the grass. She will reverence these objects for long moments, and then, as a final compliment, she will put them lovingly into her mouth, a kind of reverse engineering; I like you, therefore you must be edible.
As with all new things this too will become old hat, and we'll see her start walking through puddles, running over fields, walking into the forest, climbing up mountains. But for now the kid is rooted in one spot, endlessly picking at the growing grass. If I could only pick her up and move her to another location without causing World War III, I almost wouldn't have to mow.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
One Year Later: A Retrospective
One year ago today, Stanley Hilarius became Sydney.It's certainly been an interesting one year and nine months. It's been a long, hard fought battle, but I must admit that Sydney has won. And I have the scar to prove it.
We've learned alot since those first shell shocked days. Mostly by trial and error, we've learned what Sydney does and does not like, when she'll sleep, and when she won't. We've also composed quite a few songs which, I'm sure, would make my operatic brother cringe but actually shouldn't surprise him too much. After all, I did come up with the words to the fantastic song: Fat Person, Sittin' on a Bike.
Chewin' on the Sydney Hands
Chewin' chewin' chewin'
Whatcha think you're doin'?
Chewin' on the Sydney Hands!
Magic Bag
Sydney's in the magic bag!
Cuz she is a baby.
Sydney's in the magic bag!
And I don't mean maybe.
Big Syd
It's the Big Syd!
The Big Big Syd!
The Big Big Big Big
BIG little Syd!
The Sockless Sydney
Sydney doesn't have any socks on!
What are we gonna do
About the sockless Sydney?
Washing
Oh, we're
Washing the face
Washing the face
Washing the face
So we can go to bed.
Cuz if we don't wash the face
then we can't go to bed
and if we don't go to bed
then the morning doesn't come.
Talent creeps up on you, you know.
Chewin' chewin' chewin'
Whatcha think you're doin'?
Chewin' on the Sydney Hands!
Magic Bag
Sydney's in the magic bag!
Cuz she is a baby.
Sydney's in the magic bag!
And I don't mean maybe.
Big Syd
It's the Big Syd!
The Big Big Syd!
The Big Big Big Big
BIG little Syd!
The Sockless Sydney
Sydney doesn't have any socks on!
What are we gonna do
About the sockless Sydney?
Washing
Oh, we're
Washing the face
Washing the face
Washing the face
So we can go to bed.
Cuz if we don't wash the face
then we can't go to bed
and if we don't go to bed
then the morning doesn't come.
Talent creeps up on you, you know.
In any case, we've managed to go back to our previous hectic lives, albeit with the copious help of relatives agreeing to babysit and rotating schedules which, whilst we were still in the midst of the breastfeeding saga, basically took me entirely out of the picture every two hours. Fortunately Sydney took up the slack. That girl can stack a cord of wood in no time.
Wait, that's not how it happened. Turns out she was with me.
So today is Sydney's Big Day, and to celebrate, she decided to cry around 2am this morning, just about the time she first made noise. She's on her own journey, notwithstanding us, her parents, and we're really just following along. We try to guide her towards the carrots and the sweet potatoes of life, but more often than not they'll end up on the floor. Whatever she ends up putting on her plate isn't really up to us.
Happy First Birthday, Sydney!
Monday, March 10, 2008
Standing on Ceremony
Babies are constantly on the move and their brains are constantly calculating the next developmental step, and most of all, babies do things on their own time, so you often miss the next big thing until it happens out of the corner of your eye while you're having a conversation with your spouse.
Look ma! ...no hands!!
Sydney has learned to stand and she's learned to cruise, and apparently she's been processing the fact that her parents don't need to hold onto things when they walk about the room or carry her about, and so yesterday, apropos of nothing, she removed her hands from her mother who was being used as a support, lifted them up, and for two seconds was standing on her own two feet with only gravity and air keeping her upright.
To which we responded with the appropriate amount of praise, while our minds were whirling. Oh no! And we just got the house child-proofed for a crawling baby!!
Next I suppose she'll start saying real words, like "president" or "tricycle" instead of "bababa!" or "rarara!"
Should I start making her apply for college now, or wait until the summer?
Look ma! ...no hands!!
Sydney has learned to stand and she's learned to cruise, and apparently she's been processing the fact that her parents don't need to hold onto things when they walk about the room or carry her about, and so yesterday, apropos of nothing, she removed her hands from her mother who was being used as a support, lifted them up, and for two seconds was standing on her own two feet with only gravity and air keeping her upright.
To which we responded with the appropriate amount of praise, while our minds were whirling. Oh no! And we just got the house child-proofed for a crawling baby!!
Next I suppose she'll start saying real words, like "president" or "tricycle" instead of "bababa!" or "rarara!"
Should I start making her apply for college now, or wait until the summer?
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Cutest Baby in the World
It is increasingly obvious to us that our baby, of all the babies in the entire world, is the cutest baby there is. We know this for several reasons:
1) We think she's cute. Now you'll say that we are hardly subjective and of course we think our baby is the most beautiful creature to ever crawl this earth, but we are both intelligent, objective, independent people who are not above admitting to ourselves an ugly truth, or an ugly baby.
2) All of her relations say she's cute. Again you'll argue that this is not exactly definitive proof either, since her relations will also not be entirely independent and probably as blind as we are, but we're going to take their words for it because:
3) Perfect strangers go out of their way to tell us she's cute. Or more likely, they won't talk to us at all. They'll interrupt an earnest conversation about whether to buy another pacifier to replace the 10 misplaced ones, duck their head in to Sydney's level and go: oh aren't you precious boy you're a cute one what beautiful eyes.... oh, I'm sorry. They'll finally say to us. But she's just the cutest thing.
This last phenomenon drives us crazy, as it makes shopping a hazardous obstacle course full of well meaning, googly-eyed old ladies, sentimental, sheepish middle aged men and younger people of both genders who look at our bundle o' joy with romantic ideas and have no idea what they're in for.
These conversations are excruciating, because no longer is this a matter of one adult being rude to another, as was the case throughout the long nine months of pregnancy, but of an adult ignoring the social constructs of normal human behavior to ogle directly at another human being, who, cuteness factor aside, is learning rapidly from everything around her--including that her smile will get her everything in the world, that everyone loves her, and that she is the cutest thing around.
On the other hand, we don't want her to think that all strangers are weird and scary. "Thank you," we say politely, if we can ever get a word in edgewise.
1) We think she's cute. Now you'll say that we are hardly subjective and of course we think our baby is the most beautiful creature to ever crawl this earth, but we are both intelligent, objective, independent people who are not above admitting to ourselves an ugly truth, or an ugly baby.
2) All of her relations say she's cute. Again you'll argue that this is not exactly definitive proof either, since her relations will also not be entirely independent and probably as blind as we are, but we're going to take their words for it because:
3) Perfect strangers go out of their way to tell us she's cute. Or more likely, they won't talk to us at all. They'll interrupt an earnest conversation about whether to buy another pacifier to replace the 10 misplaced ones, duck their head in to Sydney's level and go: oh aren't you precious boy you're a cute one what beautiful eyes.... oh, I'm sorry. They'll finally say to us. But she's just the cutest thing.
This last phenomenon drives us crazy, as it makes shopping a hazardous obstacle course full of well meaning, googly-eyed old ladies, sentimental, sheepish middle aged men and younger people of both genders who look at our bundle o' joy with romantic ideas and have no idea what they're in for.
These conversations are excruciating, because no longer is this a matter of one adult being rude to another, as was the case throughout the long nine months of pregnancy, but of an adult ignoring the social constructs of normal human behavior to ogle directly at another human being, who, cuteness factor aside, is learning rapidly from everything around her--including that her smile will get her everything in the world, that everyone loves her, and that she is the cutest thing around.
On the other hand, we don't want her to think that all strangers are weird and scary. "Thank you," we say politely, if we can ever get a word in edgewise.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Long time human, first time parent
We've been feeding Sydney increasingly chunkier pureed mashes consisting of different types of vegetables for almost three months now, and for the most part they've agreed with her. She's also developed some sense of what she does and does not like; for instance, carrots and cauliflower are on the do-I-have-to? list, while applesauce is on the I-can-not-will-not-Sam-I-am list. Winter squash, rice cereal, avocado and beets are on the favorites list.
Anyway to make a long story longer, Sydney's last meal the night before had been beets.
I put her to bed with no incident at 7:30, and then we spent an enjoyable hour watching TV, a luxury which has only just begun to return to us, puttered around for a little while, took the dog for walk and finally climbed into bed around 10:30.
I swear she has radar in her head. Okay, now's the time to do my trick! At first it was a just a cough and a whimper, then it became more insistent, finally it was definitely something I had to deal with; so I strode into the darkened room and found Sydney covered in what could only be a puddle of blood.
Did I mention Sydney's last meal had been beets?
When I turned on the light to see what was going on, I found that Sydney had deposited her very last meal onto the bed, her clothes and herself, creating perhaps the most horrifying, disgusting sight I have ever been subjected to. And it was up to me to clean it up. Talk about your Dirty Job. Also, while my very first instinct was to pick her up and reassure her that everything was alright, my second instinct was to hold her like a dirty rag, well away from me and everything else. I compromised by holding her close but away from me, in case any more of the beets should make their appearance.
Two baths and several retches later, we finally had her cleaned up enough to reassure her that everything was fine, whereupon she deposited more of her dinner onto herself and the floor and we had to start over. Eventually there was nothing left, which left us free to call the Night Nurse, a service which has been started presumably so that pediatricians can be shielded from anxious, clueless first-time parents and their stupid questions like: "Pedialyte?? What's that?"
We substituted apple juice instead, but it just wasn't the same.
Finally, around 3am, on the recommendation of the Night Nurse, we bundle Sydney up to take her to the hospital to be evaluated for dehydration. We trundle sleepily outside, put the baby in her car seat, turn on the car, and start down the road.
"Car's awful loud," my husband said.
"How's it handling?"
"Okay. Well...." he stopped the car, I got out, and sure as rain, the right front tire was flat as a pancake.
We turn the car around, limp back up the driveway on our flat tire, take the kid out of that car and put her in the other one, turn it on and remember that this car is low on gas. We debate whether we think we have enough gas to get to the nearest gas station, twenty minutes away. We decide we probably do, and drive to that gas station only to discover that it isn't the 24 hour variety of store we were led to believe it was. The attendant isn't moved by our plight, repeating that they were open at five am, but finally relents enough to inform us that the Cumberland Farms down the road is open now.
So we finally get gas at the Cumberland Farms and head off towards the hospital, about an hour later than we'd planned.
When we got there, Sydney was wide awake, quietly smiling at her surroundings and interested in all the new pull toys such as the nurse's station button. The doctor pronounced her fine, repeated the story about the Pedialyte: Elixir of Good For All Babies, and sent us home.
Was it a wasted trip? I don't know; we apparently needed the Pedialyte anyway, and our country bumpkin drugstore isn't open at all hours of the night. Plus Sydney fell asleep in the car ride over there, and we weren't sleeping anyway. We might as well be on the road. Finally, isn't it a given that the first time parent will over react the first time their kid vomits (beets or no beets)? We're just following the same story line that's been carefully laid out before us. We can't wait to see what happens next.
Anyway to make a long story longer, Sydney's last meal the night before had been beets.
I put her to bed with no incident at 7:30, and then we spent an enjoyable hour watching TV, a luxury which has only just begun to return to us, puttered around for a little while, took the dog for walk and finally climbed into bed around 10:30.
I swear she has radar in her head. Okay, now's the time to do my trick! At first it was a just a cough and a whimper, then it became more insistent, finally it was definitely something I had to deal with; so I strode into the darkened room and found Sydney covered in what could only be a puddle of blood.
Did I mention Sydney's last meal had been beets?
When I turned on the light to see what was going on, I found that Sydney had deposited her very last meal onto the bed, her clothes and herself, creating perhaps the most horrifying, disgusting sight I have ever been subjected to. And it was up to me to clean it up. Talk about your Dirty Job. Also, while my very first instinct was to pick her up and reassure her that everything was alright, my second instinct was to hold her like a dirty rag, well away from me and everything else. I compromised by holding her close but away from me, in case any more of the beets should make their appearance.
Two baths and several retches later, we finally had her cleaned up enough to reassure her that everything was fine, whereupon she deposited more of her dinner onto herself and the floor and we had to start over. Eventually there was nothing left, which left us free to call the Night Nurse, a service which has been started presumably so that pediatricians can be shielded from anxious, clueless first-time parents and their stupid questions like: "Pedialyte?? What's that?"
We substituted apple juice instead, but it just wasn't the same.
Finally, around 3am, on the recommendation of the Night Nurse, we bundle Sydney up to take her to the hospital to be evaluated for dehydration. We trundle sleepily outside, put the baby in her car seat, turn on the car, and start down the road.
"Car's awful loud," my husband said.
"How's it handling?"
"Okay. Well...." he stopped the car, I got out, and sure as rain, the right front tire was flat as a pancake.
We turn the car around, limp back up the driveway on our flat tire, take the kid out of that car and put her in the other one, turn it on and remember that this car is low on gas. We debate whether we think we have enough gas to get to the nearest gas station, twenty minutes away. We decide we probably do, and drive to that gas station only to discover that it isn't the 24 hour variety of store we were led to believe it was. The attendant isn't moved by our plight, repeating that they were open at five am, but finally relents enough to inform us that the Cumberland Farms down the road is open now.
So we finally get gas at the Cumberland Farms and head off towards the hospital, about an hour later than we'd planned.
When we got there, Sydney was wide awake, quietly smiling at her surroundings and interested in all the new pull toys such as the nurse's station button. The doctor pronounced her fine, repeated the story about the Pedialyte: Elixir of Good For All Babies, and sent us home.
Was it a wasted trip? I don't know; we apparently needed the Pedialyte anyway, and our country bumpkin drugstore isn't open at all hours of the night. Plus Sydney fell asleep in the car ride over there, and we weren't sleeping anyway. We might as well be on the road. Finally, isn't it a given that the first time parent will over react the first time their kid vomits (beets or no beets)? We're just following the same story line that's been carefully laid out before us. We can't wait to see what happens next.
Saturday, January 05, 2008
Creepy Crawly
We have officially entered into the next phase of baby-hood. Sydney is crawling.
At first it was a just a few hesitant missteps before falling back on the much more reliable "commando crawl" which involves slithering forward on your belly lizard style to get to your desired object. Then it became more insistent. Now it is what Sydney does best.
Now we live in constant fear of what might be on the floor or what Sydney might walk into. We are not neat people, but we've cleared out the spaces the baby crawls in as best we can and we're becoming intimately acquainted with our vacuum, broom and mop. We've gotten down on our hands and knees and scrutinized the rooms from a baby eye's view, and tried to put ourselves in the mindset of a fearless but clueless 8 month old, discovering electrical cords and outlets for the first time, interesting items in the wide cracks of our pine floors, and completely uninterested in basic physical concepts such as gravity.
Even so, she still manages to find and chew on things which the more mature of us do not consider edible. So far we've pulled the following out of her protesting mouth:
moss
scotch tape
dog hair
paper
unidentified fuzz
flower petals
half a dead lightening bug
a burr
That's just the things we've found before they were swallowed. Who knows what's made it down into her digestive tract. So far, nothing obvious has been spit out the other side but I fully expect to see, reconstituted in way I've never seen before, inedible, inorganic items which have followed the same path as all the other stuff that goes into her mouth.
The crawling has also made us both uneasy enough that it invades our sleep. I sat up the other night and asked wildly where the baby was. My husband, woken up from his own uneasy sleep, assured me she was in her own bed. "Did you put her back?" I asked, because I had been dreaming that she was in bed with us but kept crawling away. My husband was silent for a time but decided to humor me. "Yes," he said, " I put her back." So far she's been unable to escape from the crib or the playpen but I suspect it is only a matter of time before those monkey instincts kick in. She'll progress from crawling to swinging from the trees before I know it.
At first it was a just a few hesitant missteps before falling back on the much more reliable "commando crawl" which involves slithering forward on your belly lizard style to get to your desired object. Then it became more insistent. Now it is what Sydney does best.
Now we live in constant fear of what might be on the floor or what Sydney might walk into. We are not neat people, but we've cleared out the spaces the baby crawls in as best we can and we're becoming intimately acquainted with our vacuum, broom and mop. We've gotten down on our hands and knees and scrutinized the rooms from a baby eye's view, and tried to put ourselves in the mindset of a fearless but clueless 8 month old, discovering electrical cords and outlets for the first time, interesting items in the wide cracks of our pine floors, and completely uninterested in basic physical concepts such as gravity.
Even so, she still manages to find and chew on things which the more mature of us do not consider edible. So far we've pulled the following out of her protesting mouth:
moss
scotch tape
dog hair
paper
unidentified fuzz
flower petals
half a dead lightening bug
a burr
That's just the things we've found before they were swallowed. Who knows what's made it down into her digestive tract. So far, nothing obvious has been spit out the other side but I fully expect to see, reconstituted in way I've never seen before, inedible, inorganic items which have followed the same path as all the other stuff that goes into her mouth.
The crawling has also made us both uneasy enough that it invades our sleep. I sat up the other night and asked wildly where the baby was. My husband, woken up from his own uneasy sleep, assured me she was in her own bed. "Did you put her back?" I asked, because I had been dreaming that she was in bed with us but kept crawling away. My husband was silent for a time but decided to humor me. "Yes," he said, " I put her back." So far she's been unable to escape from the crib or the playpen but I suspect it is only a matter of time before those monkey instincts kick in. She'll progress from crawling to swinging from the trees before I know it.
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