Archive for May 3rd, 2013

Cat Junk and Wildfires

Little Bird

Don’t trust this face.

Tomorrow the little bird turns eight months old. She’s not that little of a bird anymore. There’s another baby at her daycare that is only four days younger, but my daughter absolutely dwarfs him. Of course, he can crawl, and she has a hard time holding up her giant noggin long enough to get any forward momentum going.

Two days ago I brought her home from daycare and popped her onto the ground to roll around and do some crawling practice. As he sometimes does, our younger, derfier cat decided to come over and roll around, just in case the baby had spontaneously learned how to pet him. His reward wasn’t belly rubs, it was a baby hand slapped on his nether regions, followed by her grabbing a tuft of fur. He’s a good cat, didn’t swipe at her, but certainly yelled and scampered off. I can’t blame him.

I also never thought I’d need to use the phrase “Don’t grab the cat’s junk.” English is funny that way. Words that have no right being in a sentence together can form these novel and horrible thoughts.

This morning I was watching the news while she played in her saucer. It’s the time of year for California wildfires, and she was watching the reporting intently. Probably because they were actually showing someone talking on-screen. While we won’t ever let the television babysit her, combining faces and words is helpful, so much so that some studies have suggested that American Idol is actually better baby television than Baby Einstein, as the latter has a disembodied voice, but the former almost always shows the person currently talking/singing. Blew my mind to learn that. Anyway, baby has the posture of someone on the edge of her seat, but as soon as the anchor saying “10,000 acres have burned,” she leans back with a smile crossing her face. It’s the moment in the movie when the evil mastermind sees that his plan is working, that moment of self-satisfaction.

Sure, it’s easy to read into randomly timed movements. It’s fun, too.

That’s it. Just two little vignettes from the life of an almost-but-not-quite eight month old.

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