Toddlerhood comes early

To be perfectly frank, I think I kinda rushed through P's babyhood.  Always waiting for the next milestone, for it to get "easier."  Nobody I knew was nursing, and I was in Kansas (read: not a nursing friendly place to be.  My stress level would go through the ROOF if we were out and the baby, heaven forbid, got hungry).  I didn't have any family around.  Phoenix wouldn't have anything to do with Ethan.  And I was sporting (what I now realize was) a really crappie case of post-pardum.  Tipping the scale was that I was always worrying I was "doing it wrong."  What felt right in my heart wasn't what I was hearing from society.  (He should sleep through the night!  In his own room!  He should be put down more!  In a crib!  He should be more independent!  With some toys!  Nap better!  Eat better!  Sleep better!  Go to people better!  Wean!!!)  Ah, the growing pains of first motherhood... ;)

So I swore it would be different this time.  I would relish, roll in, positively permeate ever second of this baby's babyhood.  Fuck milestones and mainstream expectations.  I was gonna e-n--j-o-y my last's baby-ness.

And I have.  But its been waaaaaay too short :)  I'm busy with big bro so much that I feel like I miss a lot right there.  But I have snuggled and carried and coslept with supreme happiness and no angst this time.  And you'd think that since I'm primed to chillax and enjoy this time around, it could linger.  But life is funny :)

She's over her babyhood.  She is into Everything.  At only 8 months. Sigh.  She's sporting all of the tale tell signs of toddlerhood, a bit too early for her parent's ever lovin minds.  She is officially walking everywhere.  Totally over the "try a few steps" business and onto just. plain. walkin.  Which means she gets into the cabinets and pulls out saucepans.  Walks with long objects in her mouth, constantly calling up Grandpapa's horror story of Uncle Blaine's near demise with a spoon.  She climbs the stair to the unfinished laundry room and scavenges electrical cords.  Stands on her tippy toes and tries to open doors (it seems hilarious to see her reaching for the knob. She seems too young to realize she needs to turn the shiny thing;)  She gets caught in chairs.  Topples plants and eats them behind tables.  Climbs inside of tables.  Under the couch.  Gets stuck.

And she still brings me immense joy.  Like heart-swelling silly kinda joy.  So I'm not necessarily mourning the passing of her babyhood... but, well, I still kinda am :)