I got this new block thing from my grand-dad… a bunch of blocks which, according to the instructions, are supposed to stimulate my pincer grasp and augment my manual dexterity. The problem is I can’t seem to get past this inexplicable urge to taste it and lick it all over. I dunno… it’s just bigger than me.
I feel like such a failure sometimes… I mean, I really want to explore my pincer grasping abilities and I truly hate to miss the milestones cuz I know the parental units are tracking them… but it just looks so gosh-darned edible that I lose my self-control. One of my colleagues at the breast-feeding clinic has a mom who is an occupational therapist… perhaps I should arrange for a consult.
My buddy Alessandro popped in for the weekend… what a blast! He’s a dynamo, honestly, AND fully ambulatory! He came in like a hurricane and interfaced with just about every toy I had in roughly 2 minutes. Did I mention that he can walk?! He’s from the big city … Toronto… a big place which, I’m guessing, must have more than a hundred people!
Ok, I’m starting to think these parental units have some kind of obsession with strapping me into things. Look at this contraption! Does he think he looks cool with a baby strapped to his chest? Does he have any idea how creepy it feels to have a fully grown male strapped to your back? I’m beginning to wonder if there are any standards for parents? Don’t they have to pass a test or something?
So, here’s my maternal parenting unit dragging me to the local toy library. That’s embarrassing enough — all my buddies seeing me hanging out with my Dear Mater at the toy lending place instead of chilling at the local breastfeeding clinic with all the other cool infants. You’d think she’d let me ride in the front of the jogging stroller, eh? But noooo… she has to tuck me into her coat, like some sort of arctic marsupial.
Having said that, and I’ll deny it if you ever quote me on this, it’s kinda cool up here… feels like I’m five feet tall instead of being knee high to a porcupine and stiff-necked from looking up all the time.
Did I mention I have no teeth yet?
I’m not worried about it yet but my mom is a bit stressed over it… but have you seen her mouth bones? She’s got a huge smile that is all teeth! Looks great, really… but I’m a bit worried. If I’ve got her dental genes what’s going to happen when those larger-than-life pearly whites start protruding from my teeny little gums? I’m afraid I’m going to look like Bugs Bunny’s girlfriend!
I’m so not looking forward to having a tooth…but it’s one of those darn milestones.
So I met my paternal great-grandmother which is, as far as I can tell, the parental unit of my parental unit’s unit. I know…like, don’t they ever grow up? I’m just guessing, but I estimate she’s about 3 or 4 thousand years old. I’m hoping we’re genetically similar because she’s got to be the most agile, active and loving quadri-kilonarian I’ve ever met. She seems to have more energy than my dad and he’s only a few hundred years old or so.
I have no freedom in this place… I’m comfortable eating with my feet up on the table and, apparently, this is “verboten” in my house. Are all parents this strict? “Feet, Mado!” I hear them say all the time… as if they never had feet of their own. Gimme a break…
When I get a chair of my own I’m going to put my feet up all the time …. and I will never wear shoes!
This liquid thing has me so baffled.
It looks solid, but my hand goes right through it. It’s almost always attached to some hard-surfaced projection and seems to flow to a bed of not-quite-solid material but I can never get a good grip on it. Sometimes I think I’ve got a good grip on it but then I open my paws and nothing remains.
Does anyone know what this stuff is made of? Is it safe?
There seems to be a theme running here.
They slip me into some sort of support device then strap me in. Barely three months old and with a spine that’s about as solid as week-old noodles in a soggy paper bag, they slip me into this plastiform molded chair and expect me to be ecstatic at the opportunity to mold my skeletal structure to an implement that seems more built for torture than for comfort. I guess I brought this on … I had this weird notion that I could see things better if I sat up than if laid flat on my back. I must admit I kinda like this “sitting up” position better… had I known it would entail this form of therapeutic punishment I might have spent a few more months admiring the finely detailed workmanship on the ubiquitous parquet flooring.
“Hello? Is this the Child Protection Services?”
I’d like to report a goofy father who drags a helpless child into a construction zone? What? Danger? Yes… there must be! There were wires, unfinished walls, insulation and stuff…spooky enough to make my hair stand on end…
Didn’t they have enough time to finish this place before I was born? And what the heck are they doing while I’m sleeping anyways?