Evel And Knievel

The doctor’s office called back- nothing abnormal showed up with the baby’s blood work. Through the nurse’s thick Latino accent I caught the words “urine” and “analysis”: she said that the doctor would talk with me about that at the baby’s appointment next month. Yippee.

At this point I don’t see a reason to worry about the fact that she’s so tiny. She is happy, healthy, and super active. I had to remove the little rocking chair from the living room because she has taken to climbing it and rocking it wildly back and forth while standing on the seat and facing in the wrong direction. Even though she has a great sense of balance she couldn’t resist throwing herself from the chair a time or two and whacking her head on the toys littered around the base of the chair.

Every morning after we descend the stairs to the first floor I make sure to pull the gate across the landing to cut off her route upstairs. This produces an almost otherworldly wail from the baby, as she likes nothing better than to scurry her way up those stairs and sit at the top laughing and clapping her hands while peeking over the edge.

While cooking dinner the other day, I heard a clattering sound under the table where I was stationed. I looked down and there was the baby peering through the slats in the chair; using the training potty as a ladder, she had climbed up onto the chairs and was lying across both of them. That was a new trick, and boy was she proud.

This child is dangerous. She frightens me. If presented with two paths across a room, she will usually choose the obstacle course instead of the clear route. It’s not enough that I have my hands full keeping her brother from riding his bicycle down the stairs, or jumping it off of the couch. Oh, no. I used to think that it was safe to watch old movies with children. It’s possible that I may need to rethink my opinion: believe it or not, he assimilated the bicycle stunts from a two-second scene in Singing In The Rain.