Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Oh my talking bird

When can you consider your kid a "walker"

Ada walks. She's a bit wobbly, and sometimes leads with her head when she's trying to go fast. Yes, she needs practice. But she much prefers getting around on foot. I think the inefficiency is hysterical. She could crawl along the c-squared (think back to that high school math class . . . there . . . now think: Pythagorean) but instead takes the a-squared + b-squared to get just about everywhere. She's always bobbling between chairs and walls and people and what ever else she can use to steady herself before launching off again.

I have noticed the knees on her pants to have gotten significantly less dusty and stained. This is a major perk to walking.

But man she's already fast! I see her playing by my feet; I look up, whisk my Béchamel sauce for 2 seconds; look down.  She's on the other side of the room.

THIS CHANGES EVERYTHING.

It's something I'll have to get used to I guess.

Another thing I have to get used to: top teeth. They're about .004 of an inch (the thickness of your printer paper) away from cutting through. But you can pretty much already see them when she smiles, gums lighter and stretched thin over these two foreign objects. It's so weird. Teeth make her look like a kindergartener.

A bald kindergartener.


Also, she's chatty. Really chatty. Like constantly babbling, "Daaa de-de-de-de-de gsheh gsheh gsheh ded da dee de-de-de-de. ah. Ah! AHH! ma ma mememe de-de-de-de." Constantly. She does this thing in the morning where she'll pretend to read to herself; sit on the floor and flip through the chunky pages of her books while going "uh-UH. uh-UH. duh-DUH. duh-DUH." low-pitched sound, HIGH-PITCHED SOUND. low-pitched sound, HIGH-PITCHED SOUND. Think squeaky teeter-totter. Or maybe old swing.

Mostly she's still a complete pistol. Wonder where she got that?

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