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Family Kitty Motherhood

As to why I keep being plunged into darkness




Kitty is growing.  Figuratively as well as literally.  Not only has my chubby round little baby shot up and up and up and up, but she’s worked out that moving her chair over to the wall and standing on it on her very bestest tipeetoes gives her just enough leverage to flip the switches.  I blame ballet class for teaching her about tiptoes!

The first time she managed to reach she was so proud, she turned around to us with a beaming smile of accomplishment and waited for the praise to come raining down upon her. It took all of my self possession, honed over years of keeping a poker face in court and mediations to sit down with her and have a little chat about how whilst it was very wonderful that she could now turn the lights off and on, that didn’t necessarily mean that she should, and that as a sudden blanket of darkness falling upon our house usually means that the oven’s tripped the fuses again and requires her father to do battle with the legions of spiders that live in the same cupboard as the fuse box, perhaps she wouldn’t mind if we maintained his morale by keeping the lights on.
We’re still working on that one sinking in through the indefatigable layers of toddler cognitive reasoning.
She’s been able to reach the front door handle for a while, and will sprint for it shouting “Knock knock at the door!!” regardless of state of dress (or undress) or current occupation whenever she hears a tap on the knocker, surprising more than a few delivery drivers and the post lady as Elma and I follow at a more sedate pace.
Yesterday afternoon I got the surest proof that ever a mother could need.  We went up to the playpark to bask in an afternoon of glorious hot sunshine and while I perched on the corner of the baby landrover to nurse a wriggly Elma, Kit set off for the slide.  I’ve known she could climb up the ramp at the back of the slide for a while but she’s always needed a little helping hand to get over the stepping bars, suspended as they are at about my waist height with a nice big gap to the floor between each one.  And in the brief moment that I looked down at my baby, my big little girl trotted casually from one side to the other.  And then back again, just in case I’d missed it.
I don’t know what she’s going to do next but I strongly suspect that higher shelves may be the order of the day.