Being Still

The Poop is now almost fully mobile. Alright she's not driving my car, but other than that, she's gone. Crawling all over the place, pulling herself to standing, shuffling along holding onto tables and chairs. She put the bins out yesterday.

In fact, so enamoured is she with her new found abilities to traverse most friction friendly surfaces that Being Still currently sits at the heart of all she finds abhorrent and repugnant. In fact it's sandwiched between her two other chief irritants: Things She's Not Allowed To Put In Her Mouth and Men With Beards (woman with beards are good to go).

Going to bed is yet another opportunity for exploration and general bounding about. She warms up by circumnavigating her cot two or three times on entry, before dutifully getting down to the hearty business of 'messing about and not going to sleep'. This section of the proceedings can include any collection of the following:

• bouncing
• laughing her head off
• chewing the bars/tedddies/sheets
• throwing teddies outside of the cot
• being a bit sick
• babbling
• running her dummy tunefully up and down the bars
• banging her head on the bars (purposely)
• banging her head on the bars (accidentally)
• scrumpling the quilt and sheets in a ball down at one end
• making a weird shrieking noise
• swinging on and further breaking her mobile
• collecting every single toy which is clipped to, dangling from and decorating the cot, and settling them all at one end, surrounding herself

And my personal favourite

• trumping quite loudly and giggling a bit

You may have noted that there was no mention of crying, because there rarely is any. Fully briefed that Emmerdale and Coronation Street are 'Mummy's Time' and are not to be interfered with under any circumstance, Boo will complete her programme of selected activities from the above list, then happily settle down, usually is a ball on her front, bum in the air, cramped up in one particular corner or another. She should be dribbling and snoring about fifteen minutes after being left. 

Not allowing a trifle like the land of nod to get in her way, her obsession with perpetual movement and avoiding Being Still does not fade come slumber. Visiting her throughout the evening/night allows you to witness The Poop assume a vast range of awkward positions - some of her preferred shapes Dave and I have taken the time to name, in order to communicate her current status to the other. They include "The Prawn" (curled in a crescent shape), "The Snail" (bum in the air) and "The Brucie" (on her side, fist to forehead). Even Alan Hansen could have a field day attempting to track and analyse the formations and movements she must have gone through to reach each new position. Never once been offside though. Fergie - sign her up.

She could be anywhere by the morning. Last week I woke to her replacing the flashing on the flat roof. 

Yet as she incessantly bounces, crawls, slides, shuffles and wobbles her way through another day, despite the trips and bumps and scrapes - she's not a jot of bother.

Oh God. 

Oh no. 

I can't believe I just said that. 

What an idiot.

* Runs away touching numerous wooden surfaces*