10 Months

Ladies and gentlemen, we have a crawler.

Harlow figured that just in time for her tenth month birthday, she would demonstrate her mad skills by choosing a target, usually a clump of cat hair, a leaf or some really nasty bit tracked in by the dog, and hurl her body in its general direction. She has not yet mastered the classical hands and knees locomotive crawl; her style is more wounded commando, dragging her body weight with her right elbow while cradling the left elbow at her side. Perhaps an old injury from a previous tour of duty? There is also the crab crawl that she has seen demonstrated by several of her Mothersville playdates. Wood floors + pajamas = a disconcertingly fast scoot that leaves little time for checking email or glancing at a magazine when she's on the move.

Which brings us to babyproofing.

We get that ubiquitous babycenter email, the one that presents a laundry list of what your child should be doing by now, followed up by the very passive-aggressive "every child develops at his or her own rate so just never you mind that your kid can't sit up when he should be reciting the alphabet." You know the one. I believe it was months ago that it suggested babyproofing the house. Pick a day, it urged, and plug up those outlets, remove breakable objects and put those little foam corner thingys on the coffee table. And voila. Babyproofed. And this has been my understanding of babyproofing thus far.It's like Christmas, a day you mark on the calendar and prepare for by opening up some boxes and putting some stuff out. Boom. Easy. Babyproofed.

The email made no mention of fishing that piece of carpet lint out of her mouth after failing to spot it even after vacuuming the rug - twice. About the popcorn kernel she almost swallowed when no popcorn has been popped in this house - ever. About her passion for mail, particularly bills, and the bits of envelope that she deftly moistens and swallows. About the cat vomit that I can't just partially clean up. About how sometimes I hate my animals and their hair so much that I fantasize about an accidentally open door and 20 degree weather and heavy traffic. About what it is like as an adult to see the world from baby's perspective again, and see giants and magic and really, really nasty carpet.

Harlow is 10 months old today, and I am madly in love with this creature. It's reassuring, this enjoying being a mom, of not secretly watching the clock until her nap time but actually being a little sad when we part ways for a bit. She is pure sunshine, this 10 month old version, even with snot pouring out of her nose and guttural snarling that makes her sound like a werewolf at my breast. Everything is funny - the light fixtures at which she constantly points, my laptop, the dog (good thing, too, buddy - you're safe for now.) She scoots through the world keeping up a constant stream of narration. Holy crap! she says to me at the grocery store, at Holiday Ham, at the foot of the bed. Have you SEEN this place?

It's easy to say now that I really don't care what she becomes or the path that she chooses, just so long as she always has this passion about the world in front of her. It's pretty damn infectious.