…Maren stretched herself up to her full height, looked me straight in the eye, and said, “Game on, Lady.”

Let me tell you something terrifying. Absolutely blood-curdlingly terrifying.

When I was 6 months old, I could vault myself out of my crib, shimmy myself to the ground, and crawl to my parents bedroom. And 2 months later, when I was 8 months old, I could walk.

WALK.

Have you ever seen an 8 month old baby? Okay– even if you HAVEN’T seen an 8 month old, or spent a whole lot of time with one, is it safe to say— I mean, are you able to extend the logic to imagine– that an 8 month old has NO BUSINESS walking?

Cuz I’ll tell you something about 8 month old babies. They have absolutely NO decision making abilities.

In the past, this family fact has been a reason for me to gloat. My older sister, who is a certifiable genius, didn’t walk until 13 months. Which… by the way…. is totally normal and completely within the lines of normal child development. But if any of you had ever met my older sister, and could come to grips with the idea of being raised in the same house with someone who could talk on the phone in a foreign language, paint her nails, and beat you at chess all at the same time– you’d let me have this.

But the other day I put Maren on the floor on a blanket, and she started kicking her feet and waving her hands in that delightfully newborn way that she does, and then she rocked enough to roll herself up onto her side. And then she rocked again, and ended up on her belly. If this had happened in like, a month, I’d be so excited. But as I stared down at my 5 week old child, who was now holding up her head and cooing at me as if she had been lying on her stomach all along, all I thought was, “Oh God. I am SO SCREWED.”

I– kinda frantically– flipped her over onto her back.  I’ve been watching her for days now, waiting for a repeat performance. She gets herself onto her side pretty easily, but hasn’t gone back onto her belly yet. However, the demon that is my education and the whole of my professional experience tells me that now that she’s done it once, it’s only a matter of time. Clock’s ticking, Mom.

Basically, it’s taken me 10 months to get used to the idea of having an infant. I was kind of looking forward to having– AT LEAST– another 10 months of waiting around before I had to like… baby proof. Ok. Lets be honest. Baby proofing was not even on my radar until this moment. I was just beginning to think about a time when we would have to put Mitch’s knife kit on the counter when he got home, rather than just propping it up next to whatever chair he was sitting down next to when he took his boots off. I was just starting to muse about the remote possibility of having to pick my dishes up off the coffee table immediately, rather than waiting until forty five minutes before my best friend McKayla came over before I did a frantic clean up of the entire apartment, because if I don’t do it, by God, I will go to the bathroom and come back and McKayla will be wearing an apron, rubber gloves, and be going to town on my carpet. Which wouldn’t be the worst thing ever, but is still pretty embarrassing. She has done our dishes more than Mitch. Eventually she’s going to start thinking that’s the only reason I have her over.

So, my friends, it is with a heavy heart that I announce that Maren is making her way out of the newborn phase and into Babydom.

You’ve been warned.

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