14: how old lil Teapot is in months now. Dudes, she’s a year and two months old. How can that be? She tells me “all done!” and throws her hands up even when she means “more!” She can do a half-assed version of baby sign language for “more” – all fingers on one hand touch each other and they go into the open palm of her other hand – but doesn’t always use it, preferring to point and stretch up on her tiptoes with an open mouth like a baby bird and then cry. She can run, people. Run on her little fast legs! That also means that she’s falling a lot more, often while trying to navigate around mom, or her piles of toys and clothes, or the dog. She sleeps through the night mostly, now (what a revelation) but will sometimes wake at odd hours inconsolable until I go in and pick her up. Usually that’s all she needs before she’s dozing lightly again, head on my shoulder, stuffed dog under one arm. Sometimes she needs more, but rarely now. She loves books (mostly flipping them and closing them and saying – what else – “all done!”) and will now stay in our laps for a story or two or all of them (so says Teapot’s dad about one occasion where bedtime routine seemed to last forever!)… she interacts with the book’s content, even, waving when the book tells her to say “hello!” to the animals on the page. She’s dropping her second nap slowly but surely. She’s stacking and demolishing. She pets the dog and tells her “good girl!” She also patted an older boy on the head at a birthday party and said “good girl” also. She loves her shoes, mum-mums and clicky jar lids. One night, I couldn’t seem to make her part with a clicky jar lid so I let her keep it in her crib. In the morning, I awoke to the sound of fussing and – yep, clicking. She likes Indian food (so far she’s had naan and butter chicken sauce and dahl) and sushi (we always order a tamago roll for her now since she eats the egg and the rice with gusto) but will still eat the old standbys of cheese, some kind of fruit puree either in a jar or a tube, yogurt, noodles, Cheerios, microwaved frozen peas/carrots/corn, and chicken. Still not much hair in the front, but awesome combover action happening in the back. Sometimes I look at Teapot and I can see my little baby still. And sometimes I look at photos of her chubby self from just mere months ago and wonder where that baby went.
1: number of months I’ve been back at work. Work sometimes sucks, and sometimes it’s all right. I wonder what the point is sometimes, and then I remember that they pay me: sometimes to clean, sometimes to get yelled at, sometimes to wreck my hands and fingers opening packaging all day long, sometimes to answer the phone, sometimes to help people find something, sometimes to use my brain but often not. My mom tells me not to work so hard, but I feel inauthentic not doing my best. My sister just quit a high-paying job to go back to an old love (photography) and I am jealous because I don’t think I have it in me to believe, or make that leap. She has two kids and an even bigger mortgage than me, but she still believes in herself, and I. I don’t know.
1.5: number of hours she’s napped (and probably will nap) today.