Life was good. Ten month old “Rascal” played contentedly in a safe place on the floor, surrounded by her favourite toys. I sat a few metres away folding washing. As the piles of washing grew in perfect towers, always folded in thirds, of course, I smiled with satisfaction. I finished folding the washing and went to put it away. I could hear Rascal singing and talking contentedly. When I came back, she was still sitting there, exactly where I’d left her. I visited the bathroom, as you do, and Rascal sat on the bedroom carpet, amused as I played peek-a-boo from my perch. Later, in the kitchen, she happily sat and played with various kitchen utensils as I moved freely about, chopping veggies, switching on the oven and putting pots of water on to boil. As I watched her, I thought about how great life was. Only one thought interrupted my bliss...
She was ten months old... and not crawling. And, honestly, I was starting to get a bit worried. What was wrong with her? All her friends were long since crawling or at least doing their own hilarious versions of crawling! And yet, all my little angel could do was roll and sit and lean. I had even taken to crawling around myself at times, in the hope of transferring the skill to her somehow. I tried to quell the rising panic. What if she never learned to crawl?!
Sunday dawned crisp and sunny about two weeks later. Mummy and Daddy were in the living area. Ten and a half month old Rascal wanted her water bottle. She crawled over and got it. SHE CRAWLED! Mummy and Daddy saw it! There may have been tears of happiness. We Skyped both sets of grandparents for a demonstration. I texted numerous friends. I was seriously excited! I watched proudly as she became more confident, gaining speed and distance.
Then one day I was in the bathroom, doing something that had always involved only me, when Rascal crawled in, pulled herself up on my bare leg and tried to see what I was doing. I told her “No, Darling. Yucky...” but that only made her more interested. This theme continued throughout the day. I started folding washing. Rascal, who had been playing contentedly at the other end of the room, decided this was more interesting. I tried to rescue my perfectly folded, in thirds of course, piles of washing but I just wasn’t fast enough. She grabbed a leftover pile in each hand and smashed them with a grin of pure mischief.
She was ten months old... and not crawling. And, honestly, I was starting to get a bit worried. What was wrong with her? All her friends were long since crawling or at least doing their own hilarious versions of crawling! And yet, all my little angel could do was roll and sit and lean. I had even taken to crawling around myself at times, in the hope of transferring the skill to her somehow. I tried to quell the rising panic. What if she never learned to crawl?!
Sunday dawned crisp and sunny about two weeks later. Mummy and Daddy were in the living area. Ten and a half month old Rascal wanted her water bottle. She crawled over and got it. SHE CRAWLED! Mummy and Daddy saw it! There may have been tears of happiness. We Skyped both sets of grandparents for a demonstration. I texted numerous friends. I was seriously excited! I watched proudly as she became more confident, gaining speed and distance.
Then one day I was in the bathroom, doing something that had always involved only me, when Rascal crawled in, pulled herself up on my bare leg and tried to see what I was doing. I told her “No, Darling. Yucky...” but that only made her more interested. This theme continued throughout the day. I started folding washing. Rascal, who had been playing contentedly at the other end of the room, decided this was more interesting. I tried to rescue my perfectly folded, in thirds of course, piles of washing but I just wasn’t fast enough. She grabbed a leftover pile in each hand and smashed them with a grin of pure mischief.
"I tried to rescue my perfectly folded, in thirds of course, piles of washing but I just wasn’t fast enough."
Later, I was in the kitchen preparing dinner as I usually did. Rascal crawled into the room and darted across the kitchen, a gleam in her eye. I realised almost too late that she was headed for a pile of swept up debris from the kitchen and dining room. She’d seen one of her biscuits and wanted to eat it. “Noooooooo!” I squealed, causing her to pause mid nibble. I quickly grabbed the dustpan and brush to clean it up. That was only the beginning. I intercepted her reaching into the bin to grab an empty can. I stopped her from jamming her fingers in the bottom drawer. I prevented a near-burning incident with the oven, several times. It just went on and on. Finally it was time for her afternoon nap and I breathed a sigh of relief!
Now, in my spare time, I think back to the good old days when she sat peacefully in one spot, my washing piles undisturbed, her life not flashing before her eyes every time she enters the kitchen! I wonder, now, why I ever wanted her to so desperately crawl! But one thing for sure, it certainly adds a different focus to life, a kind of mad struggle to be one step ahead!
Libby :)
Now, in my spare time, I think back to the good old days when she sat peacefully in one spot, my washing piles undisturbed, her life not flashing before her eyes every time she enters the kitchen! I wonder, now, why I ever wanted her to so desperately crawl! But one thing for sure, it certainly adds a different focus to life, a kind of mad struggle to be one step ahead!
Libby :)
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