Eight months and counting!
We’re 8! It’s been eight months since the child was born. How time flies! I’ve been looking at pictures from back when she was a newborn. Such a tiny, little slip of a girl. I look back on that age of innocence with fondness. Those were that days when I would put her down and find her exactly where I had placed her. These days, the correct term for her would be ‘underfoot’.
She’s become even more spirited with age. The little girl knows what she wants and what she doesn’t want, and woe unto you if you deign to impose your own will. Which is crazy. She’s 8 months for heaven sake. I’m eight months to the power of infinity. I should be getting my way. But I don’t. Not often, anyway.
In this battle of wills, baby has the upper hand. See, you have to factor in the cuteness quotient. It’s very hard to say no to a child because they just kill you with sweetness. But you must also consider that she is much more persevering that I will ever be. The kid does not quit. And she’s strong too.
She seems to be slightly ahead of the developmental curve because she was crawling at six months, and ‘toddling’ shortly thereafter. Because she was a) crawling and b) holding onto things and taking baby steps, I assumed that I could start calling her a toddler. But yeah, you know what they say about assumptions and motherhood.
See, to qualify as a toddler she would have to be at least 12 months, or so conventional wisdom dictates.
Her personality would have to be clearly shining through and she would have to be very expressive. Mama would have to be on the receiving end of the most epic theatrical meltdowns, complete with flailing arms, tears and screaming.
Previously, a sweet little angel, she would suddenly become demanding and prone to angry outbursts. On the flip side, she would also be reserved, not mingling well in a crowd and taking time to warm up to new people.
And you know that one sure trick that you would trot out on occassion to get baby to laugh? She would “demand” that you do it over and over again, or else treat you to one of her legendary “theatrical meltdowns”.
The child would also become perennially cranky and exhausting, but that kind of “out of control” behavior would apparently be quite normal for a toddler.
Well, so far, this pretty much sums up my sassy, lil’ miss. For someone in such a small package, she sure does pack a hefty punch.
She’s even learning how to shake her head from left to right (signaling a big, fat, ‘No, Mama!), while clamping her mouth shut when she’s had enough to eat, or for some reason, just doesn’t want to.
The child is also a master when it comes to wiggling and squirming her way out of a firm grip so she can get down to the floor and hit the carpet crawling.
The other day she yanked on the landline cord so hard that the telephone came tumbling down, almost hitting her square in the face.
She also seems to understand from my tone of voice when she’s doing something that she shouldn’t be. Just the other day, she made a surreptitious attempt to grab a handful of electric cables, while they were still connected to the socket, thinking in her wee, little baby brain that Mama’s all seeing eyes were not watching. “Baby, stop that!” I said, quite sternly, not thinking for a moment that she would pay me any heed. In fact, I was standing up to go fetch her as the words came out of my mouth.
But to my surprise, she turned around so fast, it must have had her head spinning, and crawled rapidly in the opposite direction. Now if that is not the reaction of a baby who knows she’s been busted, then I don’t know what it is.
As weeks have turned into eight months, the child has certainly done a lot of growing. She’s a miniature human with a mind of her own and a will to match. So, while technically speaking, she is still an infant, as in a young child in the early stages of her development, I am reserving the right to call her a toddler. Not that these tags and labels matter to her in way whatsoever. But hey, it’s my story and I’m sticking to it.