Levedy

9 Months

Bean,

It finally happened. I wasn’t expecting it to happen for a while yet, but you decided to surprise us.

We have been using sign language with you for the past few months. We always use signs along with words for things like food, more, all done, bath, and cereal. We didn’t expect you to invent signs of your own, but you had other plans.

You created a sign that you use to tell us that something upsets you. You hold your hand up to the side of your mouth and open and close your fist. We figured out its meaning when it immediately preceded your spitting out food all over yourself. And the high chair. And dad. Repeatedly.

Apparently, we’re slow learners.

Your first communication with us was to tell us that you don’t like my cooking. Great.

You will, however, move mountains so that you get a steady supply of mandarin orange segments. Meth addicts could take lessons from you on addictive behavior. If we DARE feed you non-citrus objects while the little oranges are in your line of sight, WE WILL HEAR ABOUT IT. Your charm and cuteness are gone, replaced by a creature that shoots fire from her nostrils: THE BEAST TODDLES AMONGST US.

When you’re out of your high chair, however, your charm melts even the hardest of hearts. Even the cat seems to tolerate you. I don’t expect her to stomach wearing a bonnet or being forced to sit through a tea party, but I think that she’ll get to the point where she won’t glare at you from above. Progress is progress.

You have figured out how to cruise by standing and using furniture and supine bodies to motor around the room. It’s only a matter of time before you’re walking. While I’m proud and exited, I’m not looking forward to baby-proofing the house.

The baby-stuff-mega-warehouse in town has an entire two-sided aisle dedicated to safety equipment for the house. A lot of it looks completely asinine. Is it really necessary to purchase a vise to clamp the toilet shut? It looked complicated enough to keep grown adults out of the potty. That’s too medieval for me. If I purchase all of the table bumpers, corner guards, and wall pads that are offered this place will look like an institution for the criminally insane. Now, that may be appropriate as you get to know your relatives better, but it really clashes with the sofa. I’ve decided to take a more common-sense, less paranoid approach to baby-proofing the house. I don’t want you going through life thinking that everything has been sanded down and pre-padded for you.

It’s my job to teach you that the world doesn’t have rounded edges and cushy places to rest your head just anywhere. Safe havens exist, but you have to choose them wisely. Home will always be a safe place for you, and I will always have a cushy place for you to rest your head, but I’m not about to encase the stove in bubble wrap so you don’t learn that touching a hot stove will burn you.

It’s not a lesson to be learned in the abstract. I’m never going to teach you that in theory, there are hot surfaces that can hurt you. I’ll make sure you don’t lose a limb, stick a fork in an electrical outlet, or eat (too much) cat food, but you’re going to have to learn directly that stupid behavior warrants painful outcomes.

The same holds true if you ever vote Republican. I’m saving a special wooden spoon for that one.

All day long you smile, blow raspberries, and entertain us with your joyful snorts and jerky little dances. Every day is better than the last. You seem to have mastered one of the most important lessons in life for a girl, which makes me proud. I’ll help you remember how in hard times, but I’m so pleased to see that you can stand on your own two feet.

I love you more than peas love carrots,

Mama

Posted by Jen at January 28, 2007 8:43 PM