Return of Mr. Caterpillar

So many toys, so little time.

Hmm. . .we meet again, Mr. Caterpillar.  

Silly Arthropod.  You may try to intimidate me with your fancy antennae and your jointed legs, but I'm on to you.  I bet you'll only turn into a moth, not even a butterfly.

Arrr!  How do you like me NOW?!

SIx Months

I blinked and Abby is six months old.

Two sets of clothes have been outgrown and stored in the basement.  There are new things to discover.  Sippy cups, spoons, the cats, carpet lint.  Naps are fewer and this baby demands to be entertained.  For me, there's no more web surfing or reading a book while sitting on the couch breastfeeding her until she falls into a peaceful slumber.

I need to learn to embrace change.  Right after I learn to embrace chaos.  But that's another topic.
Miss Abigail at six months. . .

• is quite a character
• smiles, laughs and screams a good portion of the time she's awake
• still is of average weight, long for her age, and has a big head

• still chews everything

• now chews on a sippy cup
• occasionally gets a drop of water from the sippy cup
• has tried and is very interested in several foods (avocado, banana, a french fry - more on that later)
• loves to sit at the table with us during family meals (Greg and I will soon mourn the days of dinner in front of the television for good.)
• realizes that Desmond and Molly live in the house
• has grabbed Desmond's fur. . .hard
• grabs mine or Greg's ears and screams in our faces for fun
• pulls my hair when I try to burp her
• tries to stand up
• scooches 360 degrees on her belly
• plays with her feet A LOT
• has gone picking for strawberries, raspberries and green beans
• gives a high-five when prompted (Well, sort of.  She raises her hand and sometimes it hits my hand.  And sometimes she doesn't raise it, she just smiles.  But that counts, right?)
• waves "hi" (Well, sort of.  She's only done this for my trainer Myrna and it's a similar movement to the high-five above.)
• will very soon be too big for her Rock and Play cradle and God knows what we'll do then!

Hey, Dad!

 May I have a kiss?

 I said, "MAY I HAVE A KISS?!"

 

That's more like it.

Command Central

This is Abby in Command Central.  

It is here where Agent Abigail protects the universe from unspeakable dangers such as the Evil Space Monkeys

and the Unusually Happy Rhinoceros.

To aid her efforts Abby depends on the keen strategy of the Spinning Redbird

and the brute force of the Very Flat Lion.

Armed with her trusty Color Wheel of Death she once again restores peace to the galaxy and beyond

and she laughs in the face of all wickedness.  Muhahahah!

Playdate

Abby and I recently met at a park with three other moms and babies from our breastfeeding support group.  

We each brought food - tomato pie, green salad, chicken salad, fruit salad (yes, we like salads!), and creme puffs - and ate under a shady tree while the babies did their baby thing on a blanket.  

Once again Abigail keenly observed the food go from the plate to my mouth, from the plate to my mouth.  It was hypnotic for her.  

Bet she was pissed she only got breastmilk for lunch.

One Fish, Two Fish

Oh, Internet, how I missed you!  Abby's cousin Callie was visiting for almost two weeks.  Between the scheduled playdates, summertime adventures and keeping track of two children (parents of two-plus children of the world, I have oogles of reverence you!), there hasn't been much time to blog.  

Correction: there has been time, but I chose to eat and nap instead.

So, what's new in Abby's world?

Swimming.

It appears we have another fish in the family.  Fish number one is my dear, golf-tanned (head, forearms, and lower legs only) husband.

As a kid, Greg jumped in the water during Memorial Day weekend, no matter how chilly the pool, and didn't emerge until it was time to attend school in the fall.  

On one occasion when Greg was about four-years old, he fell off of his bike and busted open his head.  His father rushed him to the hospital where the medical staff wanted to restrain him while the doctor sutured the wound.  Greg's dad said restraints were unnecessary; he simply told Greg that he needed to stay very still.

Four-year old Greg didn't move an inch and he soon was stitched proper.  Wait, it gets better.  He didn't cry.  Not a tear.  (I, on the other hand, would have had to been sedated or strapped to the table while screaming bloody murder.)

So, the doctor temporarily leaves the room and returns to find dear Gregory crying a river.  He thought Greg had fallen off the table.  When he asked what had happened, Greg's dad told the doctor that the nurse had just informed Greg that he couldn't swim for two weeks. 

Because the boy endured sutures to the head like a gladiator, the doctor vetoed the restriction and Greg the Fish was allowed to return to the water immediately.

Fast-forward nearly 30 years.  Greg and I held our breath putting Abigail in the pool, hoping she wouldn't protest so vehemently that her cries could be heard in the next county. It turns out she loves the pool!  This is some footage just after we plopped her in her float.