Oona with an electrical cord (NYAAA!).Don't worry, that's not the business end of it. She also doesn't put it in her mouth.
Plus she's well supervised. So lay off the lecture, self-righteous people! Get off my blog!
Of course, she's still as lovable as ever, and getting more so everyday. She's also developing a sketchy sense of right versus wrong already, but I'll be darned if she actually knows what right or wrong really means. Sometimes she thinks it's a game, until her plans (like opening the kitchen cabinet doors and going through the bigas) is foiled.
She knows that when Lola or Yaya Rina says "No" or starts shaking their heads, it means that whatever she's doing is, er - unadvisable. She merely takes it as a suggestion though. She somehow knows how to get around them by appealing to their tender-hearted natures with a sad, saaaad face.
She'll also appeal to her doting father with the look. I think all babies have that innate ability to look at you and make your insides melt at will. Ooh, POWER!!!(<--- That's the "I am not amused" deadpan/blank stare.)
She's also developing a few impish tricks of her own.
An example would be, whenever she wants to go to the space behind the sofas (forbidden because we put the electric fan and the cables there, out of her reach), she'll "accidentally" drop a toy there and point to it. As soon as you move the barricades to pick up the toy, she'll make her move! She'll scoot past you on her little butt like greased lightning, laughing all the way! (She can toddle but she can't crawl on her hands and knees.)
Of course, she'll cry at the tragedy of being picked up and put out of harm's way when she's noticed. She'll sniffle a bit but she'll try the trick again...and again...and again.
I think the only way to counter the look is by developing the voice. It's a mother's most powerful tool, next to mom's the stare. Since the stare only seem to affect older kids than Oona (it varies or so I've heard), the voice seem to be a good alternative to develop.
I'm not so hot on spanking my kid, I mean jeez! She just turned one. I'm not about to yell at her either. But I figure we have to aggressively start her on discipline for her own protection. It's about time for her to learn that not everything is safe for her.So far, when I use the firm tone in the voice she seems to be responding. She'll shake her head and pull her hand away from whatever dangerous thing she's bent on examining.
Then she looks at me. She grins.
. . . And does it again.
Sigh. I have an adorable imp of a daughter.
***
It brings to mind the blog series I wasn't able to finish. The last entry was about how we were just given the news that Oona, then called the Bean, was not attached to my womb securely. There was a threat that we could lose her.
***
The Clinic Chronicles: Part 6
Keeping The Bean
“It’s going to be okay.” The doctor said as she patted my hand. “Just keep on drinking the medicine and taking it easy, alright?”
I just nodded and thanked her as Mr. F helped me out the door. I wanted to escape so badly but needed to keep as much dignity I could muster.Can you imagine how it’s like to swing from ecstasy to utter despair in the space of a few minutes? I could be schizoid for all I know, but given the circumstances, I would have a legitimate excuse. I now felt like a baseball bat walloped the back of my head, my throat was too tight, and my heart was too big for my chest.
It amazed me how these doctors could take on that kind of responsibility. They literally have their patients’ lives in their hands. They could make or break a person with a few words.
How do they handle it, facing mortality every day?
I think Mr. F and I just went on home afterwards. It was exhausting: exhilaration and the dregs in one unbeatable combination. We just ate something to dull the headachy feeling and talked.
We knew we wanted to keep the Beanie Baby, as the sprout was now called. I’ve stopped smoking (cold turkey since the day before), stopped drinking (last drop of alcohol was the week before), and we agreed that I’d have to stop the helter-skelter pace of my work life.
Curled up on our comforter, we cover random stuff, basically musing about how we would be parents. I wondered which of us would be the disciplinarian and the devil’s advocate. Of course, Mr. F claims to be the spoiler.
“You would be the Supreme Court. I’ll be the Court of Appeals!”
I scoffed at Mr. F.
Right. Like that’s going to happen.
***
Of course now, she's as rambunctious as they come and RF is the spoiler! Hehe!
Time flies so fast!
