And Life Is Never the Same

This is parenthood, now isn't it - one minute I'm sitting here, minding my own business, basking in the delight that is a calm rhythm of life, and the next minute I look up and WHAT ARE YOU DOING ANASTASIA??? SIT DOWN. Who told that child I was ready for her to become mobile? Because they lied. I am NOT ready for her to be cruising along furniture and stretching out to transfer that little body on its toes from one object to another. I know what happens after this and I'm telling you I'm not ready.

Don't misread this and think she's on the verge of walking tomorrow; she isn't. But first you blink and think "Awww, that's cute that she's crawling a little bit and can now chase her toys. She's so happy to be able to do that, and it's nice and SLOW . Yup, that's really cute to watch." Then suddenly one day you're loading the dishwasher, or even better you're *ahem* indisposed and you hear a crash from the other room and the toddler says "No Anastasia!" and so you defy nature and stop what you're doing to run into the room and THE BABY ISN'T IN VIEW. And you look around the toy stroller... and under the table... and the potty seat... and under the laundry basket... Just as you see the open gate at the top of the stairs and your heart is starting to stammer you find the Baby behind the front door. WHAT??? BEHIND the DOOR? It takes only a quick glance at the toddler to realize that this is not, in fact, her fault. And that stammering heart just stops and your chin hits the floor because that means she maneuvered her way around enough obstacles to qualify for military training, including climbing over a box and under a chair and has pulled the door open, blocking her face which then peeks out because she knows she has just played the greatest game of peek-a-boo ever.

Sign me up for the funny farm now.