I am itching for Avery to be older. I know I’m going to regret thinking this when she actually is older; longing for those immobile days when I wasn’t in a heated argument with a two point five year old about whether or not she had just swallowed the disgusting wad of overly chewed up fish (Eirinn…I can see it in your mouth; you are a horrible liar.)
In the spirit of willing her to grow and develop faster, I have been testing her readiness for some of Eirinn’s old equipment. The Bumbo chair almost works. Her neck strength is improving and she spends most of the day holding her head upright herself, it just gets a little wobbly when she tires. I bought the new tray attachment to increase it’s usefulness, thinking ahead to when she’ll be munching on Cheerios and chucking a rattle at me. She’ll need a spot to rest them. She found the tray handy when emailing her coworkers.
Eirinn was a huge Snugli baby carrier fan, so I shoved Avery into it last night. She didn’t mind it. I guess she hasn’t learned to appreciate breathing like she should. It was a wee bit too big.
While I had Avery in the carrier, Eirinn was bouncing around like a lunatic, frantically squealing “Take a picture of me, Mommy! Look at me dance!” Which, as anyone who owns a toddler knows, there was no dancing going on. Just jumping and arm-flailing and seizure-like gyrating. The problem was my attention was on someone or something other than her for thirty seconds and that, my friends, is unacceptable behaviour.
But she’s cute in pictures. You know, when you can’t hear the yelling and the bossiness and the attitude.