Naptime

Margaret has been having a shifting sort of naptime.  If she gets up before 7, she's happy having a morning nap at 10ish, but if she gets up later, she doesn't, and then it's a fight to get her to 12:30 or 1 for an afternoon nap.

And, conversely, frequently with the morning nap, she doesn't want an afternoon nap, but gets Very.  Grumpy.  at 5 or so.

So we're in a bit of a flux, and sometimes, she has eschewed her afternoon nap, but it is clear that really she wants it, so I curl up with her on the couch and wrestle her into submission (no really, I pin her, and then she falls asleep.  It's like being swaddled, I think).

And then she looks very sweet.

It's very snuggly, but it sort of defeats one of the purposes of the nap, which is to let me get things done.

In other news -- video to follow -- Margaret has learned how to walk.  So that's exciting.

In Which Margaret Gets Stuck In A Very Tight Place

We've got our living room arranged so that the furniture often functions as a sort of barricade, making it difficult for Margaret to get at things like the fireplace and the nest of cords that powers laptops, lamps, and whatnot (whatnots are notorious for needing lots of power).*judiciously, we can make a pretty secure border.  This mostly works, and by using ottomans (ottomen?, we can mostly shore up the gaps.

Margaret, however, is a squirmy, wormy little person who insinuates herself into holes that one would have imagined to be too small for her.

And then gets stuckish.

She checked out the obvious escape route -- up --

but decided after testing the strength of the screen that it wasn't a viable option.

 So she tried to go forward.

And then realized that in her squirmings she'd moved the chair, and so went out under it.

Taking her cups with her, thank you.

*Those of you that remember the episode in By The Shores of Silver Lake in which Ma and Mrs. Boast construct a whatnot may be confused by this assertion, but I remind you that sometimes words can mean more than one thing, and in the specific case of whatnot can mean almost anything.

In The Snow

It snowed today.

But it wasn't actually all that cold.  I mean, obviously it was below freezing, but it wasn't too far below freezing.  And Margaret has snow gear.  So we went outside, and indulged in one of her favorite pastimes.

There was a certain amount of glee involved.

And some ordinary common-or-garden happiness.

And some surprise when she got a snowflake on her eyelash.

And then our swinging came to an abrupt halt when the snow from the branch on which the swing is tethered came off onto her head.  She didn't cry, but she looked rather shocked, and I thought that she wouldn't stay happy with a load of snow down her collar.


So we went inside.

Thinking Outside The Box

In recent weeks, Margaret has again adopted the pacifier, to a limited extent.  She's been sick, a bit, and so I think more likely to take comfort where she can, as opposed to her usual clear understanding that a pacifier is a promise without performance.

Leo has theorized that she is also fonder of the pacifier now that she has the dexterity to manage it.

As I am in possession of interesting photographic evidence, I reserve judgement* on that point.

 I think the jury may be reasonably said to be out on her dexterity with the pacifier.

*Yes, I know that's not the way it's usually spelled, but it is a perfectly valid alternate spelling, and I have my reasons.

In Which Margaret's Mother Is Probably Vaguely Blasphemous

Margaret, like the prophet Jeremiah, frequently finds herself asking "Is there no balm in Gilead?"*

What Margaret (and quite possibly the prophet Jeremiah, for all I know) fails to recognize is that there is balm not only in Gilead but in her hand.

Well, she realized it eventually.

*For her, I assume, Gilead is defined as our living room.

Spaghetti Dinner

I know that you can all imagine the content of these pictures without actually seeing them, but I promise they're very cute.  It is important, contextually, to understand that Margaret and red sauce have a long history.  First, when I was supposed to be feeling nesting impulses -- you know, the ones that would make me reorganize my linen cupboard* -- they came out in a desire to make and freeze enough red sauce to last us until Margaret was 6.  I didn't manage, but when one's calculations involve the thought "I hope these 8 pounds of meat are enough," one knows that one is making a huge amount of sauce.

Then, after she was born, said sauce came in very handy, since it provided a nice, quick meal that was nutritious.  And warm.  She tried to keep me from it, but I persevered.

Last night, I made some sauce for use in Ron's birthday lasagna, and we decided to have some for dinner as well.  And we let Margaret try it.

She thought that it was pretty good, I think, though she checked to make sure that everyone else was eating it too.  I felt a bit like an imperial taster, although with a good bit less trepidation, as no one was trying to poison me.

Anyway, she set to with a will, and soon had demolished quite a lot of spaghetti.  And painted her face besides.

There was visible oregano in the bath, which I found a bit startling.

She cleaned up all right afterwards.


*I tried, I really did, but ran up against the real obstacle that I had no linen cupboard.

Climbing Mt. Mommy

As I have noted, when the camera comes out, Margaret frequently stops doing whatever cute thing she was doing, and charges the camera.  This leads to a series of pictures of Margaret clawing her way up my body, while I try to keep her from eating the camera.  She has lots of teeth, and they are very chompy, but I don't think that she could -- or should -- manage to destroy a camera.

She gets very determined, though, that she ought to have a chance to try.

She sees the camera,

and comes pelting across the room.  She gets her determined face on,

and climbs.

She pauses at the top to look imploring,

Then she gets her hand on the camera,

And looks proud of herself.

The whole process does make me feel a little like a jungle gym.  Not that I mind, mind you, but if I was choosing what sort of playground equipment I was going to be, I wouldn't choose the jungle gym, not least because I think they're not really allowed in playgrounds anymore because of health and safety concerns.  And I imagine that it is awkward to parent when you are barred from being on the playground.

Happy Baby

Margaret, despite a cold and an impending tooth and the need to wear a bib to catch all the drool, is really quite a happy baby.

Ready To Go

We went and had lunch with  Leo today, so Margaret* made an effort to look nice.

Note the way the hairbow matches.  Of course, she mostly has red and blue hairbows, since I generally only put them in when she's wearing clothes that are not self-evidently girly.  This outfit, people probably could have figured out on their own.

You might notice that she has my phone in her hand.  That's because I gave it to her to distract her.  Immediately preceding this picture, this is what we had.

It's getting very hard to take her picture.

*Well,  she suffered through my ministrations, so we're going to give her credit.