Week 22

Dear Zayde,

This week was big in the steady march toward freedom.  And by freedom, I mean the ability to move from one place to another without the assistance of an adult.  Currently, I am confined to reside in the arms of someone much bigger than myself or in one of my many sitting apparati (car seat, Bumbo, Exersaucer, swing, stroller, etc.)  My personal goal is to break free of these contraptions and to move about the world as I see fit.

The first step isn't a step at all, but rather the practice of sitting up.  I've been "sitting up with assistance" for quite some time, but no one ever got an award for doing something "with assistance."  This week Mommy finally mustered the courage to let go and let me balance on my own.  The results have been mixed.  Sometimes I can stay upright for close to a minute, a situation that seems to be aided when I am thoroughly distracted by someone talking to me or Grandma's dog playing with toys that look far too much like mine.  Sometimes I topple right over.  Does this mean that I have I learned how to sit up?  Perhaps.  For now we shall declare it a "developing skill."

I've also just begun to learn how to stand up on my feet.  Yes, I need Mommy to hold my hands.  Yes, I tend to sit down with a bit of a thud on my (thankfully, diapered) tushie after only a few moments.  I choose not to focus on these limitations and instead to keep my eye on the prize, that distant horizon that will soon be my stomping ground.

Mommy and Daddy are also helping me learn how to fly.  They raise me high above their heads and chant, "Super Baby!"  This can only mean that at some later date, I am meant to gain the ability to soar through the air.  Something tells me that will be far more exciting than crawling.

This week I learned that all this movement I love to exhibit has earned me the nickname, "wiggle worm."  I'm not sure how to feel about that.  Worms are those slimy invertebrates that litter the sidewalk after it rains, right?  Surely Mommy, Bubbi, and everyone else who calls me this do not intend to liken my adorable squirming to the antics of such a lowly creature.  They must be referring to some other definition of the word.

Yesterday, while we were lounging together outside by the water, I'll bet you thought I learned to wave.  The truth is that I've known how to wave for weeks, but no one ever waved to me, so I had no reason to wave back.  Thank you for being the only family member friendly enough to wave to me.  By the look of delighted surprise on your face, it was obvious that you felt nicely rewarded for your effort.

All this movement has made me extraordinarily tired.  Rather than take a nap to assuage my fatigue, I shall now cry and scream for a while to let the universe know just how upsetting it is to be sleepy.

Woe is me,
Zelda

Week 21

Dear Zayde,


This week I learned how to "tripod."  It's like sitting up, but I use my arms as a means to steady myself. I can stay upright for a few moments before that whole "falling down" thing gets the better of me.  There must be a way of preventing this toppling over problem, but I haven't figured it out.  Yet.  I predict that soon I will be able to roll from back to front.  I can get from my back to my side (if thoroughly enticed by certain favorite toys), but as of yet I can't quite get all the way to my tummy.  You'd think it would be easy to move around such a small body, but - alas - I seem to be as weak as a baby.

Speaking of using my arms, I learned this week that thrusting both my arms out in front of me will cause someone to either give me a toy or pick me up.  Seeing as I enjoy both of these effects, I shall continue to reach forward with full gusto many times per day.  Heck, I might even increase it to many times per hour.  It's not like Mommy has anything better to do.

On Tuesday, I learned that in order for Mommy to "get anything done," someone else has to be here to play with me and take me for a walk.  I'm sure glad you and Bubbi were available.  I'd hate to have to entertain myself.

Yesterday, I learned what a plumber is.  Just like me, a plumber likes to get down on the ground and splash around in water.  Unlike me, he was allowed to play in the cabinet under the sink, where all the "dangerous" stuff is.  I was just getting to like this affable fellow, but then I heard the plumber talk to Mommy and Daddy about "baby proofing" the house.  I have no idea what that means, but it can't be good.  If they didn't want babies around the house, they really should have thought about that BEFORE I was born.  Trying to baby proof now seems a bit too-little-too-late.  Maybe what they mean is that because I am so wonderful, they don't want any more babies, and so they must baby-proof the house to prevent future offspring.  Yes, I'll go with that theory.  It's the one that best fits with my Zelda-centric world view.

I apologize for being a day late with this letter, but I've been incredibly busy this week putting things in my mouth.  There are so many objects just waiting for me to taste them.  So much saliva, so little time...

Rolling along,
Zelda

Week 20

Dear Zayde,

This week I learned that my mouth is being attacked from the inside.  I noticed that I've been producing more moisture in my mouth for a few weeks, a situation that causes Mommy and Daddy to incessantly wipe my face with a cloth and refer to me as their "little drooler," which I am not at all sure is a compliment.  I didn't mind the drool, but this week I've become increasingly aware of a growing pain that emanates from deep within my gums.  Something mean and persistent is trying to ruin my normally happy life, and I don't know why.  I learned that sucking on frozen toys seems to alleviate temporarily the intensity of the discomfort, but the reprieve is short-lived, and soon I am once again plunged into the depths of oral despair.  On a side note, I should report that my parents were highly amused by the look on my face when I first placed one of those extremely cold teething toys in my mouth.  Apparently I appeared both surprised and relieved.  They laugh at the strangest things.

Just yesterday I learned that all of my cousins like to play with me on the floor.  A few weeks ago, my cousins from Philadelphia got down on the floor with me so we could play football.  (Or rather, so I could hold and lick the football.)  This week I visited my cousins who live just 20 minutes away, and they got right down on the floor with me so we could play with my moose.  It was wonderful to grab Amanda's hair and stare at Ross while he made funny faces.  (I also learned that my uncle likes to make funny faces at me, but Mommy says that he wasn't trying to be funny; that's just his normal face.)  Amanda and Mommy took me for a walk around the neighborhood where my cousins live, and I learned that they have trees, too.  Their sidewalks offer a smoother ride than the ones near our house, so I'm hoping Mommy will take me back there for another jaunt.  I heard everyone talking about how Amanda is going to get something called a "license" soon, which will make it easier for her to come play with me.  Isn't that wonderful?

Speaking of being on the ground, this week I learned that when I let go of my toys, they fall down.  Previously I assumed that when I stopped holding something it just disappeared until Mommy once again presented it to me.  This week I was playing with one of my rattles while sitting in my bumbo chair.  As usual, I was sucking on the rattle and my hands, and when everything got too wet and slippery, I dropped the rattle.  It hit the play mat with a tiny thud and tinkle, so I followed the sound with my eyes and was shocked to see that the rattle was just sitting there on the ground and hadn't vanished into thin air.  Since then, I've repeated the experiment at least 50 times, and the same thing happens during each trial.  I've tried balls, books, and even my moose.  Everything falls!  (Mommy is a patient lab assistant who is happy to pick up the toys and hand them to me as often as necessary.)  This can't be some sort of fluke.  I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that this falling-to-the-ground phenomenon is true about all objects, and not just toys.  This could be a huge discovery.  Do you have Stephen Hawking's email address?  I'd like to tell him about this and ask him if he'd like to co-author a paper for one of the major journals.  The world should know about this!

Yours tiny scientist,
Zelda

Week 19

Dear Zayde,

This week I learned about defeat.  And more about the feet.

It's April, but we're in the midst of something called "March Madness," which I've deduced has to do with pride, anguish, and a bunch of tall guys running back and forth with an orange ball, which no one seems to want because they keep throwing it to other people and even way up into the air.  They almost get rid of if by tossing it into baskets, but someone forgot to put bottoms on those baskets, so the ball keeps falling out.  Grown ups are so silly.  Daddy has been particularly enthralled with the success of one group of tall guys who wear orange.  He was very excited about what these young men were going to do on Saturday night.  As you know, I tend to fall asleep around 9:30 p.m., so I wasn't able to stay awake long enough to find out what happened with the guys in orange.  This morning, Mommy lifted me from my crib as usual, changed my outrageously heavy diaper, and fed me my first breakfast, just like she always does (because Mommy is wonderfully predictable, even when she's half asleep).  After breakfast, we went into my parents' bedroom to wake up Daddy.  Just one look at his crestfallen face told me what must have happened last night.  I told him that there's always next year for another chance at glory, but (as usual) no one seemed to understand my vocalizations as anything but adorable squeaks and gibberish.  Today I shall be extra adorable to make Daddy forget all about his alma mater's heartbreaking loss.

And now onto the feet.  Weeks ago, I discovered that attached to the ends of my legs are the most entertaining body parts known as "feet."  For a few days, I grabbed at them every chance I got.  Then I forgot about them.  I had other things on my mind, like how I was going to get both my fists into my mouth simultaneously without making myself spit up.  (I haven't conquered that hurdle yet, but extensive research has yielded some interesting leads.)  This week, I looked down and remembered my little friends.  Once again, I am happily holding them while lounging on the changing table, playing on my mat, or sitting up in my bumbo chair.  That's not the only thing I can do with my feet, though.  This week I learned that my feet can be stretched downward to touch the ground.  When Mommy first put me in my command center (known to the outside world as an exersaucer), I could only dangle.  Now when she lets me play - by which I mean work in a concentrated manner - I am able to touch my toes to the ground, which allows me to bounce in my seat.  Bouncing, by the way, is tremendously fun.  I'll write more about that another week.

A few days ago I learned about thunderstorms.  I already knew about rain, which makes me wet like a bath but falls from the sky instead of pooling around my tushie.  Mommy has taken me for a few walks in rain that fell lightly and didn't get me soaked because my high-tech stroller has a plastic rain guard attachment.  This week, however, the rain made us miss one of our daily walks.  It fell so hard that it sounded like a thousand tubs were being filled on our roof.  Mommy and I sat by the window and watched the rain fall into the pool, making ripples and then waves when the wind began to shake the trees.  Grandma called to make sure we weren't outside because there were tornados in the area, which are apparently dangerous and to be avoided, like ceiling fans and plastic pieces small enough to swallow.  We stayed inside that day, and I learned that Mommies can catch a disease called "cabin fever," which makes them antsy and desperate to get-up-and-go.  As soon as the clouds parted the next day, Mommy practically threw me into my stroller, and we were out the door for a walk so long that I must have seen every tree in town.  After the rain, the grass and leaves seemed greener, and there was a fresh smell of spring.  I hope it rains again and again.

Your sunshine,
Zelda