This week I learned to never stop moving. From the moment I wake up, I start to crawl, pull up, stand, sit down, pivot, and roll. I don't stop moving until I fall asleep. Even when I'm eating, I move. If I'm in my high chair, I swing my legs. If Mommy is trying to feed me, I pinch, tug, smack, and wiggle. Truth be told, even when I'm sleeping, I'm moving. I roll onto my stomach, scrunch up my legs, and spread out my arms. Then I'm on my back, flailing my legs so they make smacking noises on the mattress loud enough to wake up Mommy. As I get better at crawling, I've found that sticking my tushy way up into the air and hanging my head down allows me to see the world from a new and exciting perspective. People's faces look so silly with their chins on top. I have learned to crawl all over the house, but my favorite places are the ones that are technically "off limits," like the mat by the front door where my parents keep their oh-so-temping shoes. Every time I get close enough to grab a shoe, someone comes swooping in and carries me back to my play mat. One day, I got all the way to the shoes and picked one up. It was a flip flop and smelled like the ocean and our driveway. I almost had it in my mouth when Mommy yelled "NO!" (whatever that means) and yanked it from my hand. I don't understand why she won't let me taste the shoes. Whatever is on them can't be any worse than the random fuzz I get on my hands from crawling around the house.
Speaking of hands, this week I've stepped up my game and learned to wave hello and good-bye. Certain grown ups swear that they've heard me say "bye bye" while waving good-bye, but they seem to forget that I'm only making six consonant sounds (ba, ga, ma, wa, ya, da), so it's more likely a coincidence that I chose to say buh-buh while I waved than a conscious act. Either that, or I am a genius baby and will soon learn to reprogram the DVR.
And yes, you read that correctly: I've learned to say da-da. Daddy seems the most excited about this new skill, but he's also excited when my diaper holds all my poop, so he's an easy audience.
This week I learned that Daddy has an annual ritual called a "fantasty football draft" that involves staring at his computer and looking dismayed. As his good luck charm, I was allowed to push the button on his laptop during the most important round, the one in which he added a kicker. As you know, kicking is a specialty of mine; I've been doing it since my early days in utero, and I continue to practice on a daily basis. Thanks to the football draft, Daddy brought home a special treat from a local restaurant, and that's how I learned that I love BBQ. Mommy wouldn't let me have any of the sweet-smelling sauce that Daddy used to drown his food, but I didn't mind. Gnawing on pieces of roasted turkey and beef was an exploration in sensory overload. If we get to eat that stuff every time Daddy watches football, I will be a huge fan.
40 weeks in, 40 weeks out,
Zelda
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