tumbles and stumbles for years to come

My poor little baby.

She’s beginning to master the art of crawling, and with it comes all the dangers. We’ve had to check the floor more often for paper, coins and other minute items that she inevitably finds, examines and pops into her mouth. She’s also discovered the joys of standing on her own feet, and will now pull herself up to stand, then give a big smile and a bobby-up-and-down dance to celebrate her achievement. And often, she makes it, and sometimes she doesn’t. She’s fallen a few times already, trying to pull herself up on the bin, or on a wobbly chair, poor thing. But when she masters it, oh, you should see the look of absolute triumph and joy! There is no substitute for learning things on your own.

To help her along, she now goes barefoot most times, and having a big sister paranoid that you’ll actually break your head open helps, so she hovers and shouts whenever smaller girl is attempting a new feat. Which is all very well and good but is also tiring when you have to say for the ninety ninth billion time that we learn best by doing, and a tumble that makes her land on her bum is fine as it’s nicely padded in a nappy.

However, it also means we can’t leave her alone on any place above the floor without holding on to her tightly, as Roz discovered last week. She picked her sister up, sat with her on the sofa cooing and laughing, then wandered over to me in the kitchen. By the time I ran over to the sofa, I was seconds late and smaller girl was just tumbling off and on to the carpet. Poor Roz was devastated that she had caused her sister pain. There were tears from both little girls that day.

Then tonight smaller girl was asleep in the middle of the double bed and I was browsing the net trying to finish off something in the next room. I thought I heard her cry out, but hoped she’d put herself back to sleep. She seemed to, as it went quiet. Then I heard a thud! And you just know, don’t you? I ran to the room and the poor little thing must have crawled the length of the bed to come and find me for there she was, at the foot of the bed, mouth open ready to scream crying.

The fecking guilt!

Poor baby.

She’s alright, but oh I feel for her.

The years of tumbles and stumbles have only just begun.