August: The Novel

Dearest Sammie Girl,

CHAPTER ONE: WALKING

This week, the proverbial light bulb went on over your head. Walking, you realized, isn’t merely for the amusement of your parents. Walking can be used to get places. Quickly. Without getting your knees dirty (bonus for the laundress queen of the house, aka me).

With other milestones, your father and I made sure to make a huge deal about them as you were doing them so you would be encouraged to do them again. When you started signing back, we clapped our hands and did our own version of the red wave in the living room. When you crawled consistently, we jumped up and down and cheered as though you had just won the Superbowl, Nobel Peace Prize and an Oscar—in the same night. This attention made you happy—and more eager than ever to demonstrate your new skills on a regular basis.

We tried those same tactics when you started walking, but our two person cheering section backfired on us quickly. It went something like this:

You: *stumble, step, stumble*
Mamma: JAY! LOOK! SHE’S WALKING AGAIN!
Daddy: WAY TO GO, BABY GIRL!!!
You: *stumble, wobble, stumble*
Mamma & Daddy: YAY SAMMIE! YAY—SAMM…
You: *Right foot, wobble, wobble, sit down. Again.*
Mamma & Daddy: Nuts.

Now, in an effort to not distract from your ever-improving walking skills, we’ve got to do what we don’t want to do: we have to ignore you in what is surely your greatest milestone to date. It goes something like this now:

You: *step, stumble, step, step*
Mamma: *Tries to send telepathic messages to your father from across the room*: Psst! Jay! She’s walking!
You: *step, step, step, stumble, step, step*
Daddy: *Pumps fist and tries hard to contain excitement*

--two minutes later, after you’ve reached your desired destination—

Mamma & Daddy: YAY SAMMIE! LOOK WHO’S WALKING NOW!
You (realizing you have our attention): *smile, smile, giggle, grin then make the sign for “milk.”

Whatever the case, I celebrated this milestone until other mothers told me that climbing comes right after walking.

Really? I was under the impression that we were done with the childproofing thing. Now I have to actually make sure that all things OVER the three foot mark are baby safe, too? Good grief. Off to find a new place else to store our growing collection of knives, guns and broken glass.**



CHAPTER TWO: LEARNING

Raising a baby, I’ve learned, involves observing your child take on the world and learn in one of two ways: either overtly or covertly. For those who didn't spend a ridiculous amount of time in child education classes to get their credential, I'll break it down for you: overt learning is the obvious: “Look, Sammie! There’s a dog! What does a dog say? That’s right! Woof woof! Doggie says ‘woof’!!”

Covert learning, to wax educational for a moment, is what is subtly learned without our putting forth any effort to actually teach anything. Simply put: monkey see, monkey do. An example of covert learning: I put the bows in your hair every morning without fail so people know without a doubt that you’re a GIRL (because the masses of pink and purple you wear every day isn’t enough of a clue sometimes). Later on, when I ask your father where your bow is, you instinctively reach for your head.

I bring this up because last night I watched in amusement as you showed us once again that you knew how to properly use an object that you’d yet to receive “formal” lessons for. I’m referring, dear Sammie, about an object that reigns supreme in the Vogt households: the remote control.

I’ll suspect your demonstrating of your new skills had less to do with actual fascination with the TV and more to do with buying more time before you went to bed, but it still amused me so I became a one-mom paparazzi show as you tried in earnest to get the TV to turn on with the remote control.

Trying to turn the TV on by pushing random buttons and pointing it at the TV:

Hmmm…maybe you were too far away last time.

Let’s scoot closer and try the point and click method again.


Mom? It’s not working…hey! Why are you taking pictures of me AGAIN?


Well, while you’re looking at me, can I have some milk?


No milk? Nuts. Maybe if I just point the remote MORE I can see if it turns on.


Definitely need to be closer to the TV to get this thing to work.


Let’s just ditch the remote altogether and start pushing buttons on the cable box.


MOMMMM! Stop taking pictures and get this thing to work already!


*Warning* the following pictures show a clear lapse in judgment on my part: I couldn’t be the strict mommy and take a billion pictures of you trying to get the TV and then just pick you up and haul you off to bed. I gave in and let you watch ten minutes of the only show you’re allowed to watch-- Sesame Street. Then I hauled you off to bed.

Hey--wait a minute—I’ve got Big Bird here in my lap—

but he’s on TV, too—how did that happen?

HIIIII Big Bird! (You must wave hi to all of the major characters as you see them onscreen).


This is the BEST NIGHT EVER! I get milk AND TV before bedtime!

EPILOGUE

Yep, I have tried to explain to bubba here that Big Bird is Sammie’s toy and not a dog toy.

He begs to differ.

loving you tons,
your mamma



**This is a joke. We do not have a collection of knives, guns and broken glass. OK, well, that’s not entirely true. I do have knives. But they’re for cutting bread and meat—not for killing people.




PS. Doctor's appointment this week. STBPITW (Still the Best Pediatrician in the World) clocked you in at 30.5 inches and 27 pounds 2 ounces. Translation: you've grown since the last appointment, but I beg to differ about gaining 5 pounds since your last visit. Measurement gate continues...