quiet riot

February 8, 2013

like any self-absorbed person, i take great delight in how much my daughter reminds me of myself. i mean, genetically we’re very similar so the odds of overlapping traits are pretty high.

luckily, she nabbed mostly good stuff. she’s remarkably laid back, she likes to laugh, she is incredibly social. we literally fell down the stairs a few weeks ago and she instantly stopped crying five seconds later upon seeing her friend, iva. she also nabbed some “lesser” qualities like a deep love of immobility, and the ability to sit on tons of things without noticing (a very clear acquisition from me).

and then there are those middle-of-the-road qualities. like how quiet she can be.

which is good at mass.

and apparently bad at nap time.

it’s becoming increasingly apparent that edith doesn’t actually sleep at nap time. that kid will sit in one place and chew on a book for hours during “playtime”. she’s technically known how to crawl for two weeks but hasn’t employed this skill to move more than a few feet total. but she seems to be throwing ragers at “naptime”.



everything you see in this picture is now in the crib.

the mobile i made has been ripped apart, blankets, books, birdhouses, bookends, bumpers all somehow end up in the crib with her. most of these items are not even that close to the crib –  how she reaches them is a mystery. she sleeps like a fallen soldier, body splayed wherever it happened to land when fatigue took it’s final blow.

like most aspects of parenting (“parenting” meaning anything beyond keeping her clothed, fed, and clean), i find myself at a loss. apart from keeping her safe*, am i supposed to stop this? am i allowed to let her know how bizarre and comical this all is? isn’t an exploratory nature a virtue? it’s a good thing to have some buffer months where i’m not sure how cognizant she is of my reaction (though maybe that assumes too much). rome wasn’t built in a day. and i guess it wasn’t destroyed in one either.


tiny destroyer


*concerned readers will be glad to hear that her “wall” (we share a room) is looking more like a soviet era cell block – isolated and barren.


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