Saturday, August 7, 2010

The Prisoner At The Bar

Margaret is getting very, very excited about her rolling capabilities, and it's becoming a problem.  The room that I'm staying in in my parents' house, though it once upon a time was my bedroom, has, in the interim, been a sewing room.  This means that when I need to put Margaret down for some reason, I can't put her on the floor, as carpets have a nasty and pernicious habit of retaining pins no matter how hard one tries to get them all picked up.  In fact, it is my considered opinion that pins are semi-sentient, and can tell whether they are going to be picked up by hand or trodden on.  They are also malicious, and hide themselves at certain points so that they can stab unsuspecting feet.

Anyway, this pin-infested floor means that when I put Margaret down, I have to put her in the crib.  Her rolling has put the bed absolutely off limits, since she seems to delight in attempting to hurl herself off the edge.  So I have to put her in the crib.

Sometimes she seems sweetly resigned to her fate.


Other times, she gets excited by the possibility of additional movement promised her by the bars.


And sometimes she grabs the bars of her prison and laments her state.


Or, at any rate, makes rude gestures at the world that tries to hem her in.  Who has been teaching my baby to make rude gestures, that's what I'd like to know.

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