Turn and face the strain: ch-ch-changes

Since about six gazillion people have reminded me again and again that this time in Clementine’s life “just goes so fast” and that I need to “enjoy every minute,” it should come as no surprise to me that my little whipper snapper is growing up right before my eyes. I want to scream Stop! or Do Over! every time we pass out of one phase and onto the next because I don’t feel like I’m getting enough of her little quirks and tricks before they are gone—poof! Raspberries, for example. I hardly got to enjoy her raspberry phase, which was a month ago at least. She would make raspberries all damn day and delight the hell out of herself, and I would have to mop up the spit and drool running from her mouth as she amused herself by blowing raspberries at her parents, at strangers, in the car, on the changing table, while playing, while eating, while sleeping (I swear she was doing it in her dreams) and even at moments that seemed incredibly appropriate to her parents even if they were random to her (when Bush was addressing the nation, for example). And now, no raspberries. Not ever. She doesn’t even find it amusing when I do them. She used to laugh, but now she just sort of looks at me as if to say “Mom, you look like an ass when you do that.”

In the last week we’ve watched her master crawling, and in the short span of the weekend we watched her teach herself how to crawl over to an object, SIT UP next to it all by herself, play with the object and then crawl away toward her next target. She couldn’t quite do it on Friday night, but by Sunday it was in effect big time. This morning, we watched her crawl around after our sad, old cat who is not too thrilled with the chase. She’s frankly not too thrilled with her life since darling C. has arrived, and this crawling thing isn’t helping. I watched Clementine as she followed Kitty back and forth, dodging and darting, determined to get there. [Side note: I also had a ridiculous emotional moment where I wondered if darling C.’s feelings would be hurt by Kitty’s rejection and desperate attempts to flee. This in turn led to a deep meditation on what it will be like when an actual person hurts Clementine’s feelings in this way, which in turn led to a deep sadness, a desire to retreat and a long, hard look at ways I could parent to avoid such circumstances. It was a dark journey, and I tried not to take out the angst it produced on the cat.]

Earlier this week, I was feeling fine about the crawling and thinking we had maybe reached a plateau of tricks—Clementine could spend some time mastering crawling but might not continue this rapid acquisition of new skills. How wrong I was indeed. Last night, as I was trying to sort some of the clothes she has outgrown, I put her in the laundry basket (yes, the laundry basket, her favorite play yard) so she could toss around her clean socks and avoid crawling to the top of the stairs where I am convinced she will soon topple to her death. I turned my back for just a minute and turned back to see her pulling herself up to standing on the side of the basket, thus setting off its delicate balance and nearly tipping it over. I avoided the catastrophe but quickly learned there will be no more laundry baskets for darling C. She tried to pull herself up again and looked absolutely devilish as I stood there holding the basket still and watched as her legs, stiff and little boards, slowly began to splay until she was kind of in the splits, her hands still gripping the side of the basket. Putting her in the crib (her other favorite play yard) didn’t yield better results. She again tried desperately to pull herself up to standing but ended up smacking her head on the crib bars a few times as she lost her balance.

Oh where oh where has my little girl gone? My little lump who slept on our legs and chests and in our arms for hours and hours (we should have been out partying it up but didn’t know any better) is now crawling and sitting and trying to stand. Why is she in such a damn hurry? If she starts walking before she’s a year old, I’m going to lose it.