Something to Write Home About

So someone gave us a top for the car seat. It’s a nice cover. There is a zipper. My favorite part is the little window flap that has a velcro strip you can put down when its cold/windy. And now we don’t have to dress her up in a snowsuit that makes her look like this:

 

I got used to calling her my little starfish. I will miss that nickname. My daughter seems to like being able to move her limbs; the snowsuit didn’t allow movement. I suppose it’s a fair tradeoff.

Now if we could just get the cat to keep his furry rear from sneaking into the baby’s room at night. He’s under the delusion he owns the place. So when you shut the door to a room like the baby’s obviously he’s going to try and stake a claim. Not to mention, I get the envy he has for her stuff. I mean, who doesn’t want a comfortable seat that bounces? As Adults, we just call them recliners and rocking chairs.

We have our own way of getting back at the cat. Each time he passes the baby, she gets excited. Lunges even in his direction. He is soft and fuzzy like her teddy bears. AND HE MOVES! What more could a developing child ask for in a companion? He will let her touch him, but only in passing. Baby has already gotten away with clumps of his hair from several “grabbing incidents.” He is vigilant around her. And he should be. We do try to teach her the right way to pet him, which will take more time I’m sure before she grasps the concept. Get it? Grasps?

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About Keith Osmun

Writer
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