I have a high maintenance baby. I know what you're thinking. "Poor confused new mother. All babies need to be fed, changed, burped, loved, cared for 24/7."
Yeah, yeah. But I'm on to you, other moms. I know the secret. I'm in church, endlessly trying to keep my baby from touching other people's faces/phones/hair, ripping all the pages out of the hymn book, or walking right off my lap to face plant on the floor. And just over there is a baby, weeks younger than mine, sitting quietly on a lap, turning the pages of a board book.
Whaaat? They come like that? Did my request form get lost in the mail? Because I specifically remember checking the box, "Easy to please."
So I think I can confidently say that the best day of my life so far was when A learned to get herself where she wanted to go, without the aide of any big people.
It took her longer than it does for most babies. It wasn't until she was about 9 months old that she could go from the sitting to the crawling position, make her way over to an enticing piece of trash, and sit back down on her bum again to safely examine her treasure. (The effect of living so near grandparents. Her bum rarely graced the floor for the majority of her early life.)
You guys. I can sit her in front of an overturned basket of toys, walk away, sit somewhere within sight, and...not hold her. All it takes is the occasional smile and wave to reassure her that I'm giving her my full attention. (I'm not)
Because these are my baby's favorite things:
eating all of the food
So, that blissful coexistence lasts until she hears the fridge open. Really, I'm shocked that my baby isn't 50 pounds.