Miss N, The Baby, is now eight months old, and is quite a curious little critter. We can't crawl yet--but we're almost there. We can army crawl, which is an upgrade from what we called "the Tripod," which involved baby, while lying face-up, arching her back so that she rested on three points (two little legs and head), then scooting the legs inward and tipping her chin down, which would sort of flop her in the direction she wanted to go. From the army crawl, we are trying to stand up. I am thinking it won't be long, folks...
Little Miss N makes REALLY good time in the army crawl. Usually, she hangs out on the living room floor. We have a couple of large toys there for her entertainment, and a legion of small ones. But what really interests this child is the stuff she's not supposed to have.
This includes Miss L's toys, which are supposed to stay in her room, but rarely do. I swear they move when we're not looking. It's like I'm living in Toy Story some days. (This train of thought leads me down an interesting path, like what the stack of naked Princess I-can't-believe-it's-not-a-Barbie-dolls talk abort when our backs our turned...but I digress...) Dollhouse furniture, little tiaras and shoes (to fit the naked Princesses), Hot Wheels cars, loose change (one of Miss L's favorite things to play with)--Miss N wants it all. She wants it now, and she wants it in her mouth. *cue paranoid squawking from Mommy*
She also likes things that shouldn't, EVER, go in anyone's mouth. Little fluffs of cat hair. Scraps of paper from Miss L's art projects. Unexplained particles of...stuff. Is our floor REALLY this dirty? I swear to God we vacuum.
Miss N will army crawl over to the piano, and attempt to get into Miss L's backpack for preschool (which lives under the piano when not on Miss L). She will try to break into the diaper bag. If it's left on the floor, and it doesn't belong there, she's all over it.
Why??? This child has hundreds of dollars worth of attractive, well-made, and perfectly child-safe baby toys. We have things that rattle. We have things that sing. (LOTS of those.) We have brightly colored toys, balls, rings, friendly stuffed animals, we have a carpet of beautiful baby toys. What must the child be thinking, to look at all those toys, then look at a dust bunny that's crept out from underneath the couch and go, "Oh, hey. I should eat that."
I suppose it's human nature to want what we can't have. I SHOULD be grading things, or cooking things, or cleaning things, or something, but instead I dork around on Facebook, which I shouldn't do, because it's meaningless and wastes time. And then I think, why am I dorking around on Facebook when I could be writing something? Like, for real? I WANT to write--at least I think I do...but do I want to screw around more? When did my "real" writing become work, something to put off, to procrastinate about? Is it because it takes effort, because it's less shiny and streamlined than the virtual "places" online where I fritter away my time? Sometimes I feel like my writing is a turd...but when I DO manage to write something, I'm in a great mood all day. No effort, no payoff.
I need to take a cue from Miss N: ignore all the flashy stuff that's designed to suck me in, and put that dust bunny in my mouth. Writing needs to be forbidden fruit...even if it's fuzzy forbidden fruit.
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