Lucia has started crawling on her hands and knees, finally. She’ll go five or six paces before plopping down and resuming her Army grunt crawl, but she does it. She does it particularly when she’s not paying too much attention to what she’s doing, like when she’s trying to reach a particular toy. It’s very cute.
She is also pulling herself up on things. She can actually get to standing when she pulls herself up on our ottoman from Marrakech. On higher things, like the coffee table, she just kind of hangs there, with only her eyes and nose visible to anyone looking on from the other side. She also now enjoys reaching her arms up—the signal for me to take her little hands and help her into a stand. We do this many, many times a day. Sometimes we take a few steps together, but it’s really more me lifting each side of her body than her actually walking. Nonetheless, it seems to please her.
God help us, I think there’s another tooth coming in. There’s no visual evidence yet; but she was FUSSkins (only half capitalized) this morning and is chewing up our entire house, so I have my suspicions.
We got a garbage can today. Andrew ordered it from Amazon and it finally arrived. This is huge. Having to throw trash into a garbage bag crumpled on the floor is a pain in general—but it because horrendous when you don’t have a garbage disposal and must throw away food scraps without getting them all over the floor. I’ll note that I have never, in any of the four apartments I’ve lived in here in NYC, had a garbage disposal. On some days, such as when smashed banana and cold bits of penne pasta are mixed with a slimy half-chewed teething biscuit and everything is coated in spit-out cereal, the prospect of a garbage disposal seems reason enough to move back to California.
I’m becoming a crazy-fast editor. With only two hours a day to work, I’m still somehow managing to finish projects. This is not easy, or perhaps wise for my sanity, but for now it’s where I am. When I put Lucia down for a nap I literally close the door and beeline for my desk, saving less urgent matters, like, oh, getting a drink of water or going to the bathroom, for when she’s awake. I understand this is not sustainable. But the ideal solution has not yet presented itself. If it doesn’t I may have to fashion some sort of less-ideal solution so I can have a bit of life—an hour! two! I don’t ask for much!—that does not involve changes of the diaper or Microsoft Track variety.