Robin's Page

 

Robin Barker's  regular granddaughter diary, and baby care column. Granddaughter Sage also joins us with a baby persepective on life.

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Diary - Sage has her say on Christmas, and Crawling!

Wow. Here was me, just mooching along, minding my own business, trying to figure out how to crawl, trying out new food - all that 7 month old stuff. I have to admit I did get a bit suspicious something was up when Mum and Dad (who usually content themselves with growing mould in the shower and killing the occasional potted plant) dragged a pine tree kicking and screaming into the living room and had the family around to cover it with exciting shiny things that I wasn't allowed to pull off.

And I did spot Dad playing with coloured paper and not inviting me along. And there was a strange incident when mum expected me to sit on the knee of a grey bearded old gent who WASN"T my GRANDAD, and have my photograph taken. But really in the end I was taken quite by surprise by the whole Christmas thing.

The day started out kind of normal - Daddy got me up to take me to mum for a feed, but he insisted that I carry a big round blue thing with ribbons on it as we went.

Grandma had refrained from bringing a tree into her living room, but instead had a 3' green plastic fuzzy tinsel ting that revolved and lit up (mum has not yet been forgiven for asking if it vibrated - I can't take her ANYWHERE!).

There was me, little green shorts, elf hat and a HUGE stack of coloured rustly paper. (I have a long memory, and will take the elf hat into account when choosing my parent's nursing home). I had to remove all sorts of stuff from IN the rustly paper before I was allowed to roll around in it, but in the end I was free to romp, and mum even brought 2 big bags of it home for me to play in it.

A family gathering like that required something special, so determined not to disappoint I decided now was the hour. Egged on by a cheer team of family members on their stomachs on the floor, I got to my knees, and managed to crawl an unsteady meter across the floor before collapsing in a heap beside mum's champagne glass.

Christmas tucker has a lot going for it. And the seating had improved. Instead of mum's lap (upholstery needs improvement) I finally had the throne I'd petitioned for for months. Comfy, and my own table setting too.

I'm not sure what my favorite is, but have to admit that Christmas pud mashed up in whipped cream with a touch of brandy butter is high up on the list.

I have a bone to pick (literally) about solids. Have you babes out there experienced this? First of all they start to give you "solids". It is puréed, it goes down easily (if you so desire), no jaw action required. If you so much as look sideways they apologize, and feed you something better (3 dirty looks and they may even give you mango). If you cough there is a rush to perform the baby Heimlich maneuver. But then, fast forward to 7 months and suddenly when they say 'solids' they mean "SOLID". How many teeth do they think we have?

Next time they try feeding you something no self respecting wood pecker would approach, try this. First of all, find something really unappetizing around the place (I got the rubber foot off the bottom of a kitchen chair).

Then when mum tries to feed you next, make sure you have it hidden in your hand. When she feeds you the undercooked broccoli or other offensive item, look your mother firmly in the eye. Spit it out (not too far - she does love you after all). Shove the chair foot or whatever in your mouth and start chewing with a 'if that was food, I prefer this' look in your eye. If this doesn't give them the idea, grow teeth. Fast.

Kicking back in my new high chair, Christmas pud on my chin, supping the juice from the fruit salad from a shot glass. Now that is the way to live.

I'm quite enjoying this crawling. So far I've managed to lift a bottle of wine from Grandma's wine rack, unplug the Christmas lights, and clear off the bottom shelf of the book shelf.

I can't wait to go back to Grandma Helen's house - I can catch the cat this time, I know I can. Best of all are the new areas of the house I can visit. Under the coffee table is exciting, as Dad always leaves his shoes there (laces - tasty!), but for some reason it sinks on me when I try to crawl out. Mother often has to be yelled at quite severely before she stops laughing and rescues me.

The balcony looks exciting, some rotten sod has put a layer of solid air between it and me. Every time I crawl out there I bump my head. If I could just figure out what Mum means when she says 'its glass silly', I think I'd have more chance of re-potting mum's flowers.

Well, that is it for now. Off to see how far I can spread the contents of the book shelf.

Ciao

THE Sage

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