figgy Rises

Dear J-

It’s fun to watch figgy develop her personality further; we’re not so far beyond the I-want, but there’s glimmers of the person she’ll be.  Eating meals with her now becomes a group affair; squawks of protest greet every attempt to eat without sharing some of what you’ve got.  Here we’ve got to tread a little carefully, as eggs (and possibly peanuts) make her break out in hives — that stuff is everywhere, man.

With increased mobility (now featuring the Frankenstein’s Monster walk), the cats are no longer safe.  Unfortunately, that generally means trying to pick them up by the fur, or demonstrating love through direct pressure across the ribcage with her 80th percentile head (our pediatrician measures height, weight, and head circumference, assigning a “this is how many babies, percent-wise, that are smaller than this particular measurement” number).  I swear, one of the cats got up and wheezed for a few moments after a love hug.

And meanwhile, she keeps up her busy routines:  organizing (books on shelves apparently offend her), cleaning (ditto for used baby wipes in the trash can), and identifying (excited about airplanes, dogs, and birds; other babies, grudgingly, but boy does she go to town on her food).



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