Whizzing past the Milestones; Alternate Achievements

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So at almost two months, my kid still doesn’t raise her head through tummy time. However, she is grasping things, smiling back and farts like an old man next door! Atta girl. Never to be timid with her wind, this one is quite exemplary in her expression of freedom every time I open her nappy. She starts off with a cackle which could be of happiness and relief but most likely it is that of her evil plans to ensue. Just as I’m focusing to remove that last speck of poop from her inner thigh, I feel wind on my face. Like my hair actually moves with it. Follows the fruity smell of baby poop (FYI It still smells dreadful. No there’s nothing angelic about baby poop. Poop is poop. Period. Don’t expect daisies and roses.)
You want to Kill yourself but just saved by that toothless cackle. Or perhaps when deep in thoughts you slow down while changing her soiled nappy, she will award you with what seems like endless streams of projectile poop which will cover absolutely everything you bought with half a heart. Like that embroidered pillow case or your cosy, freshly laundered bed linen. Or the baby’s own bedding, those adorable bolster pillows with birds embroidered on them. Everything will have poop on them. Poop that leaves a bright yellow stain. True test of heart is when you are unable to remove poop stains from your new Kate Spade iPhone Case. There’s your latest iPhone. And then there’s that case…Takes a lot of love to overlook this one but gummy cheers and funny glottal sounds turn your heart to putty.
We don’t quite feed ourself yet but we sure as hell kick our heels and propel ourselves up up and away and roll over mid nappy change on to the fresh, clean linen just to scare the life out of mom. The white as sheet look just goes with her so well. Last week Tuesday, all of a sudden there was an introduction of “the official play time” slot in the day. Around 10-11am SS would start waving her arms, playing by her own self and laughing a lot more than what could be attributable to gas or dreaming of angels. Grabbing hold of everyone’s hair is one of our various favourite pastimes. Hair, clothes anything that we can get our paws on.
We have successfully been freaking everyone out by laughing at thin air and having conversations. Form the perfect arch (my little bean!) like we used to in-utero and …wait for it…sing along when Mummy sang to her this afternoon. Just the last retaining sound of each verse.
And then choke on our own pools of spit, punch our own face and cry.
My magical bubby

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