Life is a Banquet

Circle the Wagons

My good bloggy friend Tanya received devastating news last week about her pregnancy. Please send her some prayers and good thoughts as she copes with the aftermath of this tragedy.

Six Month Princess

Six Month Princess
Originally uploaded by wavybrains.

Tavy turned six months old yesterday (The 25th). I hope to do a longer post about six months once we are back home, but for now, Happy Six Month Birthday, my beautiful girl.

Metro Girl

Darn these weight limits
Originally uploaded by wavybrains.

We're live in the land of Grandmas. I'm going to have a miserable time when we return to the land of Mama. Someone is always holding her, playing with her, teasing her, offering her carrots, celery, and PICKLES to teeth on, taking her places, and showing her new things.

Boring Mama just can't compare.

One of her new things was metrolink yesterday. For five years, I rode Metrolink pretty much every day. It took me to jobs, school, shopping, bike riding, concerts, eating out, and other activities. It was a huge part of who I became and was part of my initial steps towards independence. I don't think I would have done as well as I did in school without Metrolink as it forced me to study (luckily I didn't yet know about the pleasures of knitting on public transit).

Then that phase of my life ended, and now it's been five years since I last rode Metrolink. I've owned a car for nearly as long as I was previously Metrolink girl. It boggles the mind to think that I've been gone nearly as long as I was here.

Riding Metrolink with Tavy felt like something I *HAD* to do. I'm not sure why. And it had to be by myself. Nothing against Freak, I just needed to do this without him. Freak seemed to implicitly get this, and helped me figure out how to work it into our hectic day. My brother who is now Metrolink Boy rode  with us from the college that is now more his than mine. It felt like my life had come full circle. A certain kind of closure if you will.

I didn't realize until I was actually on the train how deeply my psyche had linked the train with certain past hurts that colored even my wonderful memories of the train. I needed to free those memories again.

It was the same metrolink, albeit slightly dirtier and with far more stops, but it felt entirely different through her eyes. "Hey! Aoo! Hee! Hee!" Everyone is a friend to her. The same people who used to make me sink a bit lower in my seat amuse her. The same droning announcements and flashing stops mesmerize her. She spent a long time just looking out the window.

I used to do that too, once a upon a time. But this time, when I looked out, I saw the past, finally firmly in its face, and the future right beside me.

We call her "the baby antidepressant." It's no wonder why the grandparents are so smitten: She heals all wounds, no matter how deep.

Future Basketball Star

The Stork Dropped This One
Originally uploaded by wavybrains.

Get ready Lady Bears, Tavy will be joining in you in your pursuit for another Final Four Appearance. She'll be six months on the 25th, and I just cracked open the 12 month clothes. I wasn't expecting any to fit just yet, but low and behold, most of them fit.

She's growing too fast.

Before she was born, I was expecting the typical 9-10 lb sumo wrestler that runs in the family. I assembled 0-3 month clothing, not wanting to waste $$ on newborn clothes. When she arrived a petite and delicate 8 lbs, we had to scramble for pink and newborn sized duds. Even so, she spent most of her time with her legs scrunched up to her chest.

Poor little legless baby with the sleeper legs flapping behind her. I thought of the warmer 9 month clothing and felt bad that she probably wouldn't reach it until summer when it would be too hot to wear. That first month, I received several lectures about how slowly she was gaining weight, and I worried that she would only show a 2 lb gain at 2 months, and I'd receive another why-don't-you-try-a-bottle lecture.

But sometime around Thanksgiving, she plumped up like a Thanksgiving Turkey and hasn't stopped. I've had more than one person ask if she's walking yet, assuming the little giant must be close to a year.

I think I understand now why Carters slogan is "If only they could stay small." If only . . . . .

Meet Tavy in St. Louis

You want to take me WHERE?
Originally uploaded by wavybrains.

Tavy (and her parents) are visiting St. Louis for Easter. We're planning a meet-up with St. Louis friends (and blog land friends too) next Thursday. Email me or comment if you would like details.

Bad Mama or Brilliant Baby?

I crack myself up
Originally uploaded by wavybrains.

(Please see my longer update post below this one. It needs some comment love :))

You know the papasan chair where I stage 90% of Tavy's photoshoots? The place where I can safely leave her for a minute while I run and locate the camera or make a quick bowl of cereal?

Uh huh. No longer.

I ran to find the camera yesterday after arranging her in her Cardinals' Onesie to celebrate the fact that she'll be in St. Louis one week from now. I returned to find her on her belly (safety conscious little girl) carefully lowering herself over the lip of the chair.

Yes. She's five and half months old.

She stretched. First one foot. "Hmm. Feel carpet." Then the next. "Not quite." She went back and forth trying to find purchase on the floor. Luckily for her, she had a captive audience of all three pets, waiting patiently for her to vacate the chair. (Some Lassie--Caylis didn't even bark in warning.)

When Mama swooped in to "rescue" her, she looked at me like, "Hey! You big meanie! I was almost there!"

Last night, while I was teaching, Daddy discovered that she can stand and hold on to a box of stuff while digging for treasure. She came up with an R2-D2 model, play money, and a set of keys. Not bad for five minutes of digging. Perhaps we'll have her find Daddy's wallet next.

Right now, I've filled a large blue bin full of her toys, and after tiring of sitting practice, she's laying on her belly pulling toy after toy out.

Must go. She just decided that unfastening her diaper is way more fun than even this new game.

The Thrill of Victory, The Agony of Defeat

I know, I know I'm managing about a post every . . . 20 days? Seriously? That's HORRID. I need to make April a Blog per Day month or something to get back on track. For every post that's published, I start about 40 in my head, 4 on Flickr, and 3 on Typepad, none of which ever make it to print because of what's going on at my house . . . .

Marvelous Marv Alberts here, folks, live from the training camp for the Infant Olympics 2008. We're excited here, very excited, now as Tavy "The Terminator" is finally selecting which events she'll be going for the gold in.

She made an early bid for the synchronized swimming team. Her ability to scream without taking a breath indicated the lung capacity necessary to stay underwater for an entire Celine Dion song. Further, she quickly progressed from splashing to all-out lunging in the tub. She rolls from side to side now, and attempts to turn in a circle while banging the sides of her blue tub with her feet. Plus, she's always been at home in the water. You can see it in the way she lounges so gracefully with her big buddha belly popping out of the water while munching on a wet wash cloth.

But, despite being a shoe-in--or excuse me--a TOE-IN for any of the aquatic sports, she's also been training for the rhythmic gymnastics team. Her love of texture combined with freakish flexibility make her an ideal competitor. Her ability to manipulate rings and ribbons mesmerizes her captive audience. Her back dives, rolls, toe grabbing, and twists give her routines complexity usually only seen in the Ukrainian team. In fact, she's so committed to her practice that she doesn't take a break to eat--she just keeps right on practicing, ramping it up with jazz hands and rope climbing. Nursing just isn't the same. Pity the poor coach.

The Equestrian coach has also come calling. And let me tell you, no girl wants to turn down a pony. She can jump till she drops. But, she's gets bored too quickly--the lonely nature of the sport lessens its appeal for her. She enjoys riding in a group though, and particularly enjoys a good gallop to London.* It's clear, however, that her talents lie elsewhere.

Unfortunately, auto sports aren't yet an Olympic event. And that's too bad, Folks, because who doesn't love a great pile-up? Tavy's got all the right moves for an Indy Cup season. She hates a long pit stop. Get her fueled and back out on the road in a hurry. And better watch out, if she's not changed fast enough, she'll just move right along, thank you very much. Roll-roll-roll, must keep moving. Her driving still needs some work though, as her car** is stuck in reverse.

Luckily, Tavy has finally found her true calling as a member of the East German "Women's" Weight Lifting Team. Yes, it's true. Those grunts, groans, bellows, shouts, and yells you hear coming from the training complex are coming from the sweet little darling gussied up in pink. She fights for each inch, refusing to give up ground. She yells her way forward towards an object, propelling herself by sheer force will.

And once she reaches her goal, she hoists the object up, not caring about it's weight or danger. She shakes it wildly, giddy with success. Wipes Container = piece of cake. Soup Can= child's play. It rolls, therefore it's hers. Lotion= shake, shake, shake. Notebook = please! give her a real challenge. Hardback book = Drag it to her, she can take it. Large plastic spoon = is this a practice session or a dance class, people.

She's bellowed her way from merely rolling to rolling across a 15 foot room. She now has a training arena, lucky girl.** She's using the yell your way to progress method to creep her way forward and to attempt to topple sit. Don't tell HER that crawling won't happen for another few months. She begs to differ. It will happen because she will MAKE it happen.

And don't you dare try to strip her of her medals. If she's grabbed it, it's HERS, damn it, and she will make you PAY if you take it from her. Don't trick by moving it from her sight or offering a safer substitute. She can and she will lift that soup can and water bottle. Just you watch. Sharp edges are no match for her, and she has no fear of paper cuts, bruises, or shock. If she wants it bad enough, nothing is going to stop her. Hence the need for the training arena. Somehow she still manage to smuggle some contraband in. We think the pets are slipping her the good stuff. You can tell when she meets her goal because the grunts turn into coos and humming. Beware the cooing.

She spends much of her day now yelling. Bellowing. Demanding. If a women's wrestling team ever gets off the ground, she'll be first in line. Don't pin her down, fence her in, or constrain this girl. She's going places, and no one is going to stop her.

She'll yell you to death first, then grunt in triumph over your exhausted (but elated and proud) corpse. 

*"I've been to London, I've been to Dover, watch out TAVY cause you might fall OVER!"
**Walker--VERY supervised and limited use only!
*** True AP parenting types may shoot us, but we had to get one of those large gate-type pen systems to keep the rolling machine at bay. One of us usually sits in the pen with her, but now we don't have pry contraband from her grubby little palms and suffer the resulting wails. I wear her around 6 or 7 hours a day. I think I've earned the pen.