Rain has been making knee tracks all over since she's learned to crawl. This is good ("Oh, you want to crawl to mommy? Ok, mama loves you, too." Don't shirk--things get much ooey-gooer than that) and bad ("Please get out of the kitchen, honey, mommy hasn't swept in there yet. Now, see? Get that walnut out of your mouth ..."). The most interesting turn of events is that now I have a new window into Rain's mind. The closest thing I've had to this before was when she began eating solid foods. For once, with a turn of her head (actually, more like a batting away of her hands) I knew when she didn't like something. When she ate something she enjoyed (Gerber puffy sweet potato stars are her current fave), she opened her mouth wide and swallowed quickly. Some stuff surprised me (papaya, peas, and prunes), and some stuff I expected (cheese--she wouldn't be genetically mine if she didn't like cheese).
Now that Rain is mobile, I finally get to see which toys she actually likes. No longer can I plop her in front of something and expect her to be mildly interested if she isn't. She still loves her stacking cups, but her big blocks? Not so much. She loves holding on to her high chair legs as if they are monkey bars. Who knew she had a thing for the wooden puzzles after all? What's her deal with the red, tiny stacking cup anyway? Or the plastic sheep she carries around in her mouth.
I guess I'm saying that it's kind of neat to see her act independently of me.
Until she tries to climb off my bed. And tear down the Venetian blinds. And eat tiny specks of unidentifiable material off the carpet. And escape from her crib. And pull the wires from the modem. And eat a stray walnut from the floor.
Which I had to dig out of her mouth.
Which she didn't want to give back.
Which made me accidentally jab her sore gum.
Which made her cry.
Check, please.
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