It’s funny how time warps, isn’t it? It seems like just last week that I was laying on the floor with Tori, cheering her on every time she managed to turn her head. That’s it. Just turn her head. From one side…to the other. And back again.
Surely it can’t have been three months since she spat out her first bite of solid food. Or two since she finally figured out how to crawl…forward (she was a master backwards traveler for a while).
Time is going so damn fast, it astounds me. As I watch my baby become a little girl, I just want to say, “Stop! Stop changing so fast! Can’t you just stay small for a little while longer?”
I don’t mean it, of course (except I do).
So before I find myself handing her the car keys, I thought it might be good to stop for a minute. To try and capture a few of those little things that make her so special right now, before she becomes someone new again. Things like…
Her Vietnam-soldier style crawl—she can crawl all regular-like, but that’s just too boring for Tori’s taste. Instead, she prefers to keep her belly low to the ground, traveling arm over arm as her legs kick frantically behind her. Sometimes she’ll peer at us around corners or from behind curtains, just to check and make sure the enemy’s nowhere to be found, I guess.
Her sentences of gobbledy gook—some would say that she can’t talk yet. I beg to differ. She does—it’s just in the language of Tori, and we don’t know how to speak it. She’ll put together whole sentences, complete with emphasis. Things like “Ah ba da da zaz GOO!” Then she’ll turn around, for all the world looking like she expects you to know exactly what she said.
Her tendency to occasionally spit out a real word, out of nowhere—Once, when I came to get her up for the day, she looked right at me and said, “Hi!” Which is my usual greeting to her. I’ve also heard kitty and oggy, but not more than once or twice. And yesterday? Yesterday, Brian was waving bye-bye at her, and I swear, we both heard her say “bu-bye.”
I don’t know, maybe it’s my grandma’s genes talking (she always insisted her dog could say mama, but no one else ever heard it), but I think that kid’s working up a heck of a vocabulary.
Her preoccupation with climbing everything—Over Christmas break, she learned how to pull up on things, and now? Nothing is safe. She climbs along the couches, of course. And she likes to try to pull up to the table using the tablecloth (results? not good). But that’s just the beginning. My pants, the rocking chair, the mop bucket, even the toilet. I kinda wish those eyes would hurry up and grow on the back of my head.
Her insistence on “walking” everywhere while holding my hands—Once she’s tired of perching on whatever semi-stable object she’s managed to climb, she holds her hands out to me so I can help her walk to her next destination. And she? Never tires of this game. Unfortunately, my back can’t say the same.
Her suddenly toothy grin—No more gummy smile for this baby. She’s got three teeth, and she’s working on the fourth. I haven’t gotten a good picture of it yet, but that grin is fan-freaking-tastic.
Her sweet babyness—Every once in a while, when she forgets she’s supposed to be a big, brave girl now, she reverts to my little baby Tori. Like last night. I was feeding her a bottle, all snugged up on the couch, when she reached her hand out to my face, closed her eyes, and promptly fell asleep. We snuggled for a good hour, long after my arm went completely numb, but nothing could have convinced me to move her. I’m going to miss those moments when bottles go the way of her pacifier…
I could go on. And on. And on. But since no one is as captivated by my baby as I am, I’ll stop now. Now if only I could stop time from marching so fast…