Day 15
This is the 16th post in a row, of a planned 32 posts in a row. And I’m freaking out, man.
It’s only the halfway mark and with my feeble attempts at “picture” posts, I feel like I’m running on empty, creatively speaking.
Speaking of running, The Squeaker’s cousin, O-Pickle (who, I might add, is approximately 6-weeks younger than Squeak) has an interesting little trick – he can stand up. Of sorts.
Okay, he’s got a little help. Well, a lot of help.
Picasso puts his hands around O-Pickle’s calves while he stands on Daddy’s knees. Sways, actually. Sways, smiles and laughs hysterically.
Squeak hates standing stiff-legged.
Grabbing her around the waist, the minute I put even a fraction of her weight on her legs, they buckle like a cheap polyester jumpsuit. She doesn’t cry or express her displeasure in anyway, but I know just the same.
The same way you know when your wife says, No, I'm not mad, that she really is. At you. For something you did in a dream she had. Last year.
It's a vibe. We men are good at picking up on things like that.
Anyhoo, she loves the jumperoo, pushing her whole body up and down with her little legs. And those little suckers are getting better at propelling her body towards toys that are inches outside of her teeny grasp.
Of course, she still prefers to role to things more than a couple of inches away; but I bet she doesn’t feel creatively empty over it.
It’s only the halfway mark and with my feeble attempts at “picture” posts, I feel like I’m running on empty, creatively speaking.
Speaking of running, The Squeaker’s cousin, O-Pickle (who, I might add, is approximately 6-weeks younger than Squeak) has an interesting little trick – he can stand up. Of sorts.
Okay, he’s got a little help. Well, a lot of help.
Picasso puts his hands around O-Pickle’s calves while he stands on Daddy’s knees. Sways, actually. Sways, smiles and laughs hysterically.
Squeak hates standing stiff-legged.
Grabbing her around the waist, the minute I put even a fraction of her weight on her legs, they buckle like a cheap polyester jumpsuit. She doesn’t cry or express her displeasure in anyway, but I know just the same.
The same way you know when your wife says, No, I'm not mad, that she really is. At you. For something you did in a dream she had. Last year.
It's a vibe. We men are good at picking up on things like that.
Anyhoo, she loves the jumperoo, pushing her whole body up and down with her little legs. And those little suckers are getting better at propelling her body towards toys that are inches outside of her teeny grasp.
Of course, she still prefers to role to things more than a couple of inches away; but I bet she doesn’t feel creatively empty over it.
posted by Rob Barron at 8:37 PM
1 comments
