My Baby Was Bit!

I received a phone call this morning from Alex's daycare informing me that one of the other children had bit Alex hard enough to break the skin.  My very first thought upon hearing this was "How the hell did they manage to do that when she was wearing jeans?!"  The biter must have some set of chompers on him or her.  Then I wondered what Alex did to deserve such a biting.  She was in a terribly bad mood this morning so who knows if she said or did something mean.  Marcus then reminded me that she was probably in a bad mood this morning because I have little patience for what she thinks is a fun changing routine.  This basically involves a lot of crying, alligator death rolls, and the ever popular "limp baby" when I'm trying to pull her pants up.  Only 13 short months of life and she knows all the tricks of the trade.  Anyway, the whole situation makes me sad because Alex has now come into contact with her first bully.  I was kind of hoping we'd be forced to deal with this a few years down the line.  Luckily, her memory is only about two weeks long so this episode should fade quickly.  I just hope that whoever did bite her keeps on their guard because I've seen the size of the teeth Alex has coming in and they are no joke.

Update, 28-MAR-2012:  If the daycare hadn't informed us of the biting incident I never would have realized anything was wrong.  There was barely a mark on her at all.  I think they were a bit over-dramatic in their description of the bite.

And She's Off!

Well, folks, we have a walker.  Alex took her first official steps at the beginning of March and in the past two weeks she's progressed to walking short (very short) distances usually between whatever she is holding onto and either Marcus or I.  And she does it with the best sh*t eating grin you've ever seen.  She knows she's doing something big.  Of course, she's also probably grinning because Marcus and I are typically laughing our heads off as she stumbles around like a drunken fool.  I really have never seen anyone run into walls as much as Alex.  Not even at 2:00 in the morning, after last call, have I seen such stumbling.  Luckily, she's a pretty happy "drunk" and laughs it off rather than getting pissed off at the wall for getting in her way (I'm pretty sure we all have one of those friends).  She's also come close to a face-plant or two which I have definitely seen her father do on one or more occasion after a night of fun.  I digress.

This walking thing is really going to send our world upside down, not like Alex herself hasn't already done so.  For now we're able to keep up with her diaper butt and keep her out of trouble but I foresee that once she really starts motoring around things are going to change.  The bookcases are going to have to be rearranged, Alex will probably take care of that for us, and just about anything else within a 3' reach from the ground will have to be removed.  Oh, Lord.  I don't know if I'm ready for this!

Ballet

I elegantly slide my foot into the canvas shoe and tighten the drawstring in anticipation of my long-awaited return to the ballet barre.  As I gracefully walk across the floor, head held high, stomach lean and taut, legs long and limber, shoulders back I think of how amazing it will be to put 13 years of previously unused knowledge to use.  As the instructor begins I claim my spot at the head of the class not wanting to miss a thing.  My plies are perfect; Entendues enchanting; Arabesque's amazing.  I pirouette across the room in a blur of beauty.  Everyone must wonder who this magnificent creature is.  Where did she come from?  Who trained her?  It is as if Anna Pavlova herself is channeling my body in her final performance of the Dying Swan.

What really happened:

I fuss with my new canvas ballet shoes hoping the shoddy stitch job I did on the straps hold up during class.  For 13 years I never had to sew a thing because my mom always did.  The night before I was half-tempted to call her at 9:00 and ask if she would finish sewing the straps on for me.  As I stand up and readjust my outfit I see in the mirror bulges that were not there earlier when I first got dressed at home.  Damnit.  Where did those come from?  I plod across the floor trying to ignore the belly pushing my pants down and wishing I had remembered to put on deodorant and brushed my teeth.  I would hate to be asked not to return due to a lack of personal hygiene.  The instructor starts the class.  "Eh, this is easy enough," I think as we begin warming up at the barre.  5 minutes later and I'm lost.  "What the hell is a frappe?!  I mean, I know what it is at Starbucks."  "Sh*t.  Why is everyone facing me now?  Oh, hell.  I shoulda turned around back there."  Once our warm-up is complete we head to the middle of the floor.  Everyone else vies for a position in front of the mirror while I hide behind a column.  It gets a little blurry (literally) here because I forget the cardinal rule of pirouettes, which is spotting, and I fight back the nausea creeping up, putting my head between my legs.  At some point we gather in the corner to leap and twirl across the room in hopes of appearing light and airy.  At each landing I hit the floor with a thud, the mirrors shake and the ceiling above cracks and crumbles onto my head.  I swear I hear an elephant herd nearby but I realize I must be dreaming.  We're nowhere near the Serengeti, silly!  Finally, our instructor calls it quits, disheartened I'm sure by the repairs to the ceiling she will now have to make after tonight's lesson.  I make my way back to my bag and change into my street clothes feeling satisfied I had the guts to return to ballet.  As I wave goodbye to the instructor and head downstairs I swear I hear the trumpeting of elephants but quickly realize it is the instructor weeping.  I must have made that big of an impression on her.