Unrolling the toilet paper from the roll.
Chasing the cats around the house. That girl is a quick crawler, and she can pull herself up to stand by leaning on anything, even a mirror, so she’s starting to be a real threat to our poor cats.
Finding every last piece of lint, dirt or stray catfood in the house, and helpfully checking out how it tastes, before reluctantly relinquishing it to me. A related skill: playing race-mom-to-the-pile-of-dust-she-just-swept-up, trying to beat me to it before I can fetch the dustpan. I’ve been winning this race, but I’m beginning to fear that it’s only because she’s letting me win.
Hiding food in her highchair. Why can she manage to put dirt in her mouth, but not cheese? This is one of the everlasting mysteries of infant-dom.
Using clever wrestling techniques in order to resist laying still on her changing table. Really, she will cross her legs over your arm, then twist: she knows how to leverage her little body. We’re so proud.
Swaying to the music, especially if it’s more like muzak than music. She doesn’t have very refined tastes, yet, but I swear: my baby dances.
Noticing when Mom is acting weird (reading a book with animal sounds, dancing like Gumby), and actually laughing at me. Is “being embarassed by your own mother before the age of one” some kind of impressive developmental milestone? I choose to interpret her laughter as delight.
Laughing uproariously whenever I try mirroring her behavior. She is really delighted if, after she claps, I clap too. We can bang on the table together for ten minutes at a time. This is how I spend my days when I’m not at work teaching students how to read dense cultural studies theory.