Quin Log: Month 8
My mother was going to write this update. But seeing as how she thought I was 7 months old, not 8 months old, I decided to take over. How could she forget how old I am? One month is 1/8 of my life. One month ago I didn’t know how to pull up on furniture! One month ago I hadn’t learned that I could wave (even if I still can’t figure out how to do it when I want)! One month ago you could barely see my bottom teeth!
All of these details may seem tiny, but in my world, they are huge. If Mom didn’t have so many kids, she might be paying more attention. (Then again, if she didn’t have so many kids, I wouldn’t be here, so there’s that.)
For all her forgetfulness, Mom was the one who showed me that I can stand up while holding onto the table. Which quickly escalated into the fireplace and the couch and the chairs and the dog then before you know it, I’m in a cage.
So maybe it’s not so bad. Maybe I can pull up on the whole thing—every single part! So maybe my siblings like to be in there with me so it’s never lonely. So maybe MOM likes to be in there with me. So maybe I don’t smash my face into the corner of furniture anymore. Okay, I see where this is less a cage and more a protective measure.
For now. Because believe you me, I will NOT be held back. I have places to go. Under chairs. Into boxes. Beyond the living room where they usually keep me. I have my sights set on the toy room and OUTSIDE. I like the sky and wind and want to feel the prickle of grass on my knees. Not so much the fire ants my sister stepped in this week. But grass, yes. I like to eat leaves also and there are but so many of them in the house.
I’m an explorer at heart, you see. I want to see it, feel it, smell it, and taste it. (Especially taste it. Books are my favorite snack these days, but Mom keeps them out of my cage. Buzzkill.) The frustration lies in the fact that my body won’t do what I want.
I can stand and hold onto furniture, but at any given moment, my legs give out. And I KNOW it’s not because they aren’t sturdy. If there is one thing everyone tells me (again and again and again) it’s that I’ve got huge thighs. (Ps- Thanks for starting my body image complex early, everyone.) Whatever the disconnect, I’m over it. I’m ready to walk AROUND the table, not just stand there until my stupid, sturdy legs give out. This body is killing me. There’s a verse Mom quotes from the Bible sometimes: “Who will rescue me from this body of death?” EXACTLY. Yes. That.
My teeth are pretty cool, though. I’ve found that biting has good and bad effects. When my sister was stealing toys from me and I bit her, she went away. Score. When Mom was feeding me and I bit her, she screamed. (I may have peed my diaper a bit.) And then there was blood, so that kind of ruined my meal. The jury is out on biting. I’ll give it a few more tries and see what happens.
Other than exploring and standing, I really really REALLY like my Dad. Other people too, like my Gammy and Turkey, but ESPECIALLY my Dad. When he comes home from wherever he goes all day, I flail my whole body and smile until my face almost breaks and he seems to like this. At least, he comes and kisses me and throws me in the air and I really like flying.
Month 8 means one month closer to being a year. I’m so sick of being 0. Bring it on, year 1. I’m ready for you! As soon as I figure out how to scale The Clink.