suddenly, and almost overnight, I’m not the mother of a baby anymore. I thought I had pretty much ‘got’ being a mother of a baby. and then, all over again, I have no idea what I’m doing and feel like I’m chasing something out of reach. all day.
last week, Pip wouldn’t even take an aided step. this week, she’s walking up and down confidently pushing the dolls pram walker that she got for her birthday. perhaps we should have got it sooner. still crawling though, and my goodness, can she move. she can be all the way down the other end of the flat before I’ve even managed to stand up.
picking up small things is still a fascination. now though, she’s examining them more, collecting things. leaves, moss, twigs (even, hilariously, a cigarette butt discarded in the garden after the party, which she found and solemnly handed to me). several times this week, I’ve noticed that she’s been trying to pick up her shadow.
imitation is another thing I’ve noticed; pretending to put shower gel on her sponge and miming washing with it, scrubbing the ground with a little cloth, ‘drinking’ tea out of my old tea set cups, talking on the phone (especially when pushing her pram along. can’t think where she learnt that…)
we’ve tried a few more activities as well. Pip can hold a pen or crayons now and will scribble on a paper when prompted, although doesn’t seem especially interested in it. she still loves books and we’ve started going to an interactive book reading, which she seems to enjoy.
at Sing and Sign, there is a cat called Jessie, who goes round the class kissing and cuddling each child. for her birthday, Pip was given a card from the Sing and Sign class, with a photo of Jessie on the front. when shown the card last night at the pub in an effort to entertain her, Pip held the card up and kissed the photo of Jessie, with a little ‘mwah’.
all day, every day, she rampages around. occasionally playing happily by herself in her tipi with her toys, or pushing her pram up and down. more often though, she is chasing the cat round and round the kitchen table, or throwing her toys out of the pram, repeatedly and maddingly. still teething, she bites me, over and over again, on my shoulder, or leg, wherever is nearest. when asked to stop, she shrieks and giggles manically and carries on trying to bite, as if possessed.
and yet, I’m fonder of her than ever.