The Belly Gets Older

As some of you may, or may not, know, N2's nickname is "Belly".  It has almost nothing to do with her real name and was given to her by me and N.  P is worried that it will cause her some anxiety, but I doubt it will last and it's got a bit of sweetness to it.  Plus, I'm a prime nibbler of baby tummies.

Belly (as will be her new name on the blog) is getting bigger and stronger and smarter.  She's learned which breast she prefers for which meals.  She knows that if she clenches and unclenches her hand, I will pick her up and hold her.  She does not know it means I will nurse her though.

She can sit up.  She can push backwards while on her tummy.  She abhors tummy time though and will roll over when you put her down.  She can drink from a straw.  She can laugh at N's jokes.  Belly is showing independence and curiosity and a desire to be a part of the family in a way she isn't quite yet.  She's still just a tiny bit "the little baby that we carry on our adventures" and she seems to be trying to break free of that.

When I attempt to sit her down now, she locks her legs in an attempt to stand.  She makes whimpering and whining and crying noises when we eat.  She wants food too.  She chatters like a crazy little girl.

When we "read" her touch and feel book, she remembers it and goes right for the textured parts of the page.  If N comes near her, and she tries to grab his hair and shake him.  This causes him to duck and cry and retaliate.  It starts so early.

She's obsessed with cats.  That is how you know she's my daughter.  Belly, the daughter of a ninja kitten.  She'd rather stare at the cats than do anything else.  She likes car naps and hates alone in the bedroom naps.  Sometimes, she gets fussy and only mommy will do for her nap.

Belly is dressed crazily.  Sometimes she'll have on her Sunday finest.  Other times, she's dressed like I went blind during the picking of her clothes.  She's growing into a more distinct look now too.  Earlier, she was N's twin.  Now, she is starting to get her own features that are the Belly's and not just "Oh, that's like N."  Her nails are like mine.  Her lips are like mine.  Her smile is beatific so that must be from P.

I can't believe she's this small.  I can't believe she's growing so quickly.  How is it that I've had her for what seems like forever, but she was just born this year?  I absolutely adore babies.  If I did not have a problem with my stupid veins and my clotting blood, I'd have a billion of them, each sweeter than the last.  As it is, I think she might be last so I try to remember that as I smell the top of her head before I kiss her once again.

Snow, You Are My Frenemy

Nathan and I are staying at my mother's house tonight. Once a week while Paul is gone, we go to stay overnight. It gives me a weekday to rest in a bit, two days of things to do that don't require excess cash, a helper for two of his bathtimes, and an excuse to eat horribly. ("Of course I had white rice, some butter, and some soy sauce two days in a row for dinner! That's what my mom has!")

This week, SNOWMAGGEDON II is on. You've perhaps heard of this ridiculous term? The first time I did, I snorted out loud at the stupidity. Well, my mom is normally one to shovel immediately when a storm hits and then to shovel repeatedly throughout it's whole fall. When I was younger, I would curse her. No sooner would I settle down with a cup of hot cocoa to the computer would she declare that it was time to shovel. Up until I was 18 I was the worst shoveling assistant you could meet. I would take frequent breaks and huff and puff and whine. I'd tell her my feet were freezing and so were my fingers and I was dying and then I wanted a drink and then I was tired. The whole time that woman would just keep shoveling and ignore me and make me feel petty. I'd think to myself, "Why can't we just wait until the snow is done?"

As the years past and I moved out, I stopped being so angry and started to get worried. My mom is not young anymore and I don't want her to have a heart-attack due to snow shoveling. I ask her to go it slow if she must. If possible, I beg her, pay someone to do it for you. Take frequent breaks, I admonish.

So, this year, when during SNOWMAGGEDON I, she shoveled, I worried more. She told me it had made her tired and out of sorts. When I learned it was going to snow on Tuesday, I scheduled myself to be here rather than at my own home so that I could sleep over and help shovel. She asked that we start right after her Korean soap dramas were over, at approximately a half hour after midnight, and I told her it was on. Only, I geared up and slipped out at midnight, to get started without her. I told myself that if I could get a quarter of the driveway, it'd be a quarter she wouldn't shovel.

I went out in boots, jeans, a nice puffer jacket, no hat, and gardening gloves. Five minutes in, I assumed my fingers would drop off from the cold. Ten minutes or so in, I had to take up my steamed up glasses and my fingers were once again warm from exertion. I would talk to myself about how much I had gotten done. "There's a quarter of the driveway, Kitten. You can do it." I would tell myself I could give up once I reached a certain point. "Just to the porch. You're almost there." It became peaceful and magical in that way that only being out in the snow is. The pink sky and the heavy flakes in my hair made me feel great and I kept going each and every time.

I shoveled the whole damned thing. At that point, I wondered where my mom was. I came in, and she had fallen asleep watching her dramas. I laughed to myself.

I'm still impressed that I did shovel the whole driveway and I wonder if I'm stronger than I was as a teen or simply more responsible. Maybe I'll find out tomorrow when she wants to shovel the driveway some more.