Emmy is growing by leaps and bounds. At 16 months, she is not a baby any more. She is learning new words every day. I just handed her a little piece of cheese, and she said, “Da goo.” (Thank you!) She is also growing more sure of herself in physical activities. I don’t worry about her around the stairs as much any more, since she has learned to go down as well as up. She will get on all fours at the top of our stair case, sometimes several feet away from the top step, and back herself up to the top step to crawl down backwards. She knows how to scootch off beds and couches, too. So I have been a little lax about watching her like a hawk.
Yesterday we went to Lily’s preschool for her holiday program, and all the adults were sitting on the itsy, bitsy preschool chairs. Emmy wanted to sit on one, too, so I placed her on the one next to me, turned to watch the program, and BOOM! Face plant! Emmy was on the floor, crying. I felt like the most neglectful parent ever. Her nose was bleeding, her mouth was bleeding, and she was screaming bloody murder. Ed and I took her out, and after we wiped up some of the mess, she looked okay, but she did have a fat lip. This did not, however, prevent her from downing the multitude of cookies her guilt-ridden mother fed her! One preschool mom who has several boys reassured me that her boys always look beat up and bloody. Ahh, the solidarity of parenthood.
