We're Movin' On Up ...

MyGirl that is. She is moving up my leg, moving up the side of the crib, moving up the couch, a pile of pillows, the coffee table, pretty much anything she can curl her grabby little fingers around. It's totally endearing to see her try so hard, and amazing to me that she packs so much muscle into her tiny 14 pound frame. The girl is solid, that's for sure. And she's got her daddy's legs, which makes me insanely jealous. What I would give for his skinny knees and muscled calves. Anyway.

She is all over the place, between crawling, downward dogging, one-arm-pushup-ing, and pulling up, which is certainly making naptime a challenge. No matter how tired, no matter how long she's been rubbing at her eyes, as soon as I plop her ever-so-gently down in the crib, her eyes light up as she sees the bars, and before I know it, I've got a little prisoner with her hands clenched up by her head and eyes peering through her cell to the other side. This typically goes on for 15 or 20 minutes, usually with a spill or two (forward and backward), as she hasn't figured how to get herself down from standing position.

Back to the rubbing eyes...I find it so interesting that they've completely morphed out of yawning as an indicator of tiredness. I used to watch them like hawks, making sure, as the BabyWhisp*rer advised, to get them in bed by yawn number three. I rarely see a yawn these days, at eight and a half months old. It's tiny, curled fists, rubbing at drooping eyes. I wonder why the change. You don't really see adults rub their eyes as much as yawning. Wouldn't we look like boardrooms and classrooms full of infants, all rubbing and rubbing?

MyBoy is mastering the military low belly crawl. He sees a favorite toy or person in front of him, and his eyes light up. He labors so intently and slowly to get to his goal, favoring his left arm forward...throw the arm over, pull, pull, pull ... throw the arm over, pull, pull, pull ... throw the arm over, pull, pull, pull ... Wash, rinse, repeat. His new favorite game is to sit on his bottom, and pull himself up on my outstretch fingers. I try hard not to pull him myself, but to let him muscle himself up, which is often a humorous sight, as his sweet legs and feet sometime seem to be in the way of his efforts.

And yes, he was the lucky recipient of his mother's legs, which feature solid yet chubby thighs, practically non-existent knees, and again, chubby ankles. Thankles. Kankles. Whatever you want to call them. I pray he stretches out a bit, and takes some exercise pointers from Dad.

I'm working on sippy cups right now. They are great for chewing, great for tossing, but of negligible use for drinking. I've found a little success by feeding them by bottle, then pulling out the bottle and putting in the sippy cup. They'll drink, rather awkwardly, for a few sucks (with me holding of course, which is totally NOT the point), and then grab the cup and fling it around wildly. All the while screaming for their milk. In the bottle. Which they won't really hold enough to support a full bottle, but will gladly wrap their fingers around with enough strength to pull it away. I wished for the day when they would be strong enough to hold their bottles, and surprisingly, now I'm wishing for the days when they just lay there so quietly and ate. All in the past.

But these days are great, too. I bundled them up in new (Christmas gifts) fleece-lined jeans and fuzzy hoodies this morning, since it was finally cold. (See photo above. Those jeans are not figure flattering, are they??) We headed out for a walk, since I heard it was going to rain today, and knew we'd be stuck inside most of the day. We strolled to the coffee shop, had a minute to recharge and warm up, and then hit the sidewalks.

Not five minutes later, there were big, poofy, white flakes of snow drifting down from above. The flakes got smaller, then eventually dissipated (they did come back later). It made for a glorious way to start the day. Although MyGirl and MyBoy were rather nonplussed about the wet snow and didn't seem to understand why I was making such a big deal out of it. Nor did the construction worker we passed by, the lady walking her dog, or the other kids who were on their way into school. Well, they probably did.