When I first had my darling child, I would just stare at her and hold her. I never put her down. Honestly. She was never out of my sight...unless Gramma stole her from me. (Which was probably a good thing.) A few months later, I realized I wasn't actually talking to her. Just looking at her. So I started saying everything. I did watch a bit too much of the Food Network. I thought for sure her first word was going to be "BAM!" and her first whole sentence, "Hey, y'all!" Well, it's paid off, all that blabbering about. She can talk! She says 'da-da' (which I've discussed here...da-da is me; I'm da-da). She says 'this' and 'teeth' and 'thank you' and her newest 'kitty cat'. Yes. You can tell that is what she's saying. She's not one of those children who speak a language only their mother can understand. Okay...maybe she is. But other people have heard her say it and I'm sticking to it.
I also wanted her to learn to play by herself like a good only child. She'll be just like me. Hiding her favorite best toys when friends come over. Playing both players of a board game and always letting the imaginary person win. (The latter has to be some new psychologist's wet dream. They're the ones that always figure out the good stuff. I would never cheat and play crappy cards of the imaginary players hand, or switch and say, "No. These were my cards." I should've too. I never won. I mean...of course, I still won...but not in my original seat. In the empty seat across from where I was sitting when I dealt the cards. Oh...forget it.) Maybe she'll watch the same movies over and over again. And stand in front of the TV rather than sit down to enjoy a show (not that I want her watching a lot of TV, but I do believe it can teach some street smarts. For example, do not rob a bank. You will always get caught.) So, as I'm typing this she's involved in some creative play. Well, one hand is. The other hand has a death grip on a bag of cough drops that she's not forking over.