Last time I opened an email from Baby Center, I immediately felt compelled to quiz Clara on all of her body parts and was surprised that she was keeping so much knowledge a secret from me. I read another email today that said all normal, liberal-arts-college-will-be-attending 18 month 4 wk old babies can speak at least fifteen words. I’ve counted thirteen, and that’s only because there’s lots of ways to say dog, e.g. “woof!,” “pee pee (puppy),” and “arf.” So, now we’re trying to wait a little longer for the words to come before congratulating ourselves on figuring out that “eh eh eh eh” means “more juice.” So far the waiting game has pulled out from Clara the words “nurse” and “ears,” but I can’t ever imagine two-word sentences, like “go bye bye.” Then again, I could barely imagine the day she would finally walk, and now she’s trying to leap off the the back of the couch.
Clara barely had a moment of peace without her raincoat this weekend. She’s looking a little bit like the old school marm here:
We let the little bossy lady . . .
channel some of those directorial instincts into the eighties rockstar/ Baby Rambo look:
Such a beautiful Rambo.
Clara now removes the recycling bins and table cloths and claims this spot as her own every day. She sets up her string cheese and juice and closes the door when she needs a little alone time. In general, I think she’s developing some introversion to counterbalance all her social impulses. For the first time ever in the history of her entire whole life, Clara started to climb her crib at bedtime until I placed her inside. She pulled the covers to her chin and stared at me until I simply said, “Goodnight.”
Clara also continues to love helping us and gets frustrated if we accidently throw her diaper away or sweep the kitchen without her. During the hour in which we crank the tunes and surface clean the heck out of this cabin, Clara tries to keep up and often grabs the broom before we have a chance to get the dust pan in position.