Month seven has been another transition month. Blackbird hasn’t hit any big milestones, but has been tiptoeing right up to the edge of them, getting incrementally closer and closer yet never reaching them (a sort of baby’s first dichotomy paradox).
This past month she’s been almost crawling all the time. Even in her sleep. Her mobility, which is still very limited, is far greater than it was last month. She can freely roll and knows to slow herself to avoid bumping her noggin, she can spin in circles on her tummy (I call it pivoting), and she can get up on all fours and rock forward and backward. However, she can’t get that one final piece: lifting her hands one at a time. This drives her crazy. In fact, she’s better at slowly skooching backward than she is at making forward progress. She occasionally does a face-plant as a result of this little hurdle (which results in virtually no fussing, to my surprise).
However, in spite of this month feeling a bit ‘in between’ more significant advances, it’s been great fun. The contours of her personality are becoming visible and our interactions have become true responsive events involving feedback from both sides affecting the other. I admit, as cute as she’s been since day one, I’ve never had this much fun before. Yesterday, I spent the morning on the floor with Blackbird and our cat, Leto. Blackbird giggled and squealed, rolling around with the cat and trying to get a handful of her tail between bouts of playing with a book. Her sense of joy and wonder at the world is so strong and energizes me every time.
For a variety of reasons, we’re a little thin on photos this month (a new job being a big reason). But worry not! I have an SLR to play with now (sadly, only on loan), so I expect the quality and quantity to spike for next month.
While utensils are still out of the picture, Blackbird can reduce a rice cake to slime in record time, and with no help from Mom and Dad. Her vigor and determination are unparalleled in this activity. She can also work her sippy cup with more skill (two hands!). Not only does this mean less frustration and less gas, it also means she doesn’t thrust the cup from her mouth and gasp, water cascading down her face, like a swimmer emerging from a clear lake.
She got the whole world in her hands. Look at that hand. It’s huge. That’s all I got on this one. I just can’t get over that huge-lookin’ hand.
Staring contest! Grandpa tries to teach Blackbird to crawl, but is overwhelmed by her charms. He also demonstrates how to take off your glasses when cross-examining a witness, like they do on TV.
“I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice chianti.” ::slurrrrrp::
Though replace “liver” with “beets,” “some fava beans” with “my hands” and “chianti” with “cup of water.”
A few weeks ago we went to Linvilla Orchards, which is a great farm where you can pick your own fruits and veggies, as well as get pumpkins and Christmas trees (for Labor Day and Earth Day, respectively). On top of this, you have hay rides and FRESHLY-MADE CIDER DOUGHNUTS.
They’re really good doughnuts is what I’m saying here…
It was probably the best trip we’ve taken with Blackbird. She loved every minute of it, particularly the hay ride, during which she didn’t have to be strapped into a car seat. But that paled in comparison to being allowed to mash her face into a freshly-picked, succulently ripe peach. Peaches aren’t only her nickname. They are also her favorite food. If I’m not fast enough while feeding Blackbird peaches, which means “not stuffing them into her face at a machine-like pace that does not allow for any time between swallowing one spoonful and receiving the next,” she will shout and slam her tiny hands down on her tray. If only the demands of all egomaniacal despots were so benign.
She’s not sure what this crazy situation is all about, but she likes it. Though she’d like it a lot more if we let her stuff her mouth with straw.
(Forgive me for this.) I call this photo, “Box of peaches.”
These are the kind of things that feel wrong on some level, but are impossible not to do. Kind of like that one time I set Blackbird gently down on the pile of clean laundry in our laundry basket (which is probably the tamest of examples). I call it “Geddes Syndrome.”
Sadly, Blackbird is not as adept at peach picking as one might hope. But her interest had probably waned by this point. She did just eat most of a peach, which when put in adult terms would be akin to eating a fruit the size of a bowling ball. I can#8217;t blame her for wanting some roughage to move something like that through.
Oh, yeah. She’s getting pretty good at that, too.