Deuces

Sorry, Trouble, Sayler is getting bigger and her tender punches to your abdomen are becoming stronger. Yet you take each punch with stride, although I can see your small cat-ears point outward indicating your discomfort with my daughter's heavy blows. But what you really won't tolerate is her deliberate way of using you as a step-stool. My daughter's "latest" triumph in this first year of life is her penchant for climbing.... Everything. A few months ago when she realized the wine bottles weren't a permanent fixture in the bar she started pulling them out- one by one- so we had to remove them all from our beautful cherry wood furniture. And now, what was once a very adult fixture in our house has become Sayler's personal jungle gym. She carefully puts her tiny feet into each bottle-slot, and scales each layer one by one with little trepidation or concern over how she'll get down . At the doctor's office on Friday as I put her empty car/c...

I haven't been keeping a baby book, but this here blog will have to suffice... for now.... until I can carve out a day to enter details into said memento. But today, March 19th, 2012- on your grandma Val's birthday, you pushed yourself up from your knees to a standing position and I got to see it all unfold. With walking, it was hard to determine a set date for when it all started.  An assisted step here and there, then 2 or 3.... then 2 03 unssisted that ended in disaster.... then several that ended in face-plants and finally careful toddling about the hallway. I just couldn't find a set date without feeling like I was exaggerating.... So let's just say that somewhere around 9 months you started walking, and by 10 months at the end of this week you are an official walker-stalker (stalker implying your predatory steps toward the cats...) But today... this day I know and don't have to lie about.  It was really, really really cool to see.  Perhaps even more so...

I get cuter every day. Well, I'd like to think so anyway. But I think that about my kid. You know, the little one. So I wonder... at what point do we stop getting cuter every day?  Because I just don't see it happening anytime soon for my little piece of mayhem. The way she reaches into a perfectly tidy and organized drawer and pulls everything out.  The way she has figured out how exciting it is to rip out the pages of the Penny Saver... one by one.... and then tear them into smaller pieces. The way she hides mommy's mascara, the one piece of make-up mommy feels naked without.  And then there goes mommy running around the bedroom in her panty-hose searching for her over-priced mascara which is probably just as good as the Maybelline brand she bought as a teen but still somehow believes that maybe, just maybe her lashes will be more plump, luscious, voluminous and lengthier by using the 'spensive one. And then there's all that falling down business.  ...

I find myself typing this quickly, because, really, I only have but a few minutes. And I even feel guilty using these few minutes while I lie on an un-made bed whose sheets are clean and waiting to be draped over this bare-naked mattress. At least the laundry and the sheets are clean... I was able to do that. Although, I guess I'm not giving enough credit to the washing machine and dryer.  But every day I find myself trying to be much more efficient so that I can be the woman who does it all, herself. I find myself juggling my baby on a hip with a load of laundry under my arms, keys dangling from my mouth, a computer or work bag draped over my elbow, and a sippy cup hugging the seams of my trouser pockets. And if I am barefoot, I will oftentimes even use my feet and toes to clutch wrappers and laundry that have escaped my arms and hands.  (I swear, I am THAT flexible and efficient) while juggling said above items. ...