So, just in the past couple of days Miss Olivia Moonpie has figured out her hands. It started with just holding her hands together in front of her. Then, she started whacking at the toys dangling from her new playmat. Then, she grabbed at, caught, and held on to one of the linked rings we’ve dangled from just about everything. Last night, she held and shook her rattle. Today, she figured out how to grab onto her shirt and lift it up. She’s spent the day showing everyone in Borders her belly button when she was supposed to be drinking her bottle. Flirt.
Her chubby little hands aren’t all balled up in fists anymore. She pushes away her bottle with a flat hand. She rubbed a fuzzy lovey. Suddenly, there is a world to explore. And, it’s a world she can see now. She loves to watch the TV. Last night, she spotted the antique soap dish I have on the wall by the front door (it holds our car keys) from across the room and fussed until Shannon carried her over to it so she could touch the shiny metal over and over again. She smiled at the lady sitting next to us in the cafe today.
She holds long conversations with her daddy complete with pauses and inflection. If only we had a baby-to-English translator. I’d love to know what was so important and funny last night. I’ve started singing made up songs to her when there’s no one else around to be tortured by my terrible rhymes. Sunday’s “Clean Pants” song was a big hit. This mornings “Good Morning to You” got a cooler reception.
If I lay her down in one direction, within minutes she’s rotated 90 degrees. It makes naked baby fun time a challenge as I try to keep her on the waterproof pad. She desperately wants to roll over from her back to her tummy. We’re going to have our hands full once she masters that. Already trying to hold her in our laps to feed her has become a challenge. She arches her back and curls up in a ball and twists and turns. Then, she screams because she doesn’t have a bottle in her mouth as if we’re the ones preventing her from eating. I think it would be easier to put pantyhose on an octopus sometimes.
She’s the spitting image of Shannon. At first we joked that that was good because it meant the fertility clinic didn’t get anything mixed up when the did the fertilization. However, as she starts to look more and more like him and almost nothing like me, I’m starting to wonder if they perhaps used the wrong eggs! She acts like me though. Don’t let anyone tell you behavior isn’t at least partially hereditary.
I can’t believe she’ll be 23 weeks old tomorrow.