Claire is walking these days. Running even. In fact, she’s grown so attached to the idea of walking AND feeding herself that she will, if given the opportunity, walk around the living room whilst enjoying a bottle. I find this hilarious.
We have taken to occassionally, when my schedule allows, walking the mall as a family. Given the weather of late, it’s been the best way for us to actually enjoy the time. Instead of, you know, being shivering masses of frigid annoyance. The first time we went to the mall and walked the second floor I encountered an overwhelming fear that this would end in disaster. A perfect storm of a specific recollected parenting failure combined with my…distaste for heights almost immobilized me. Claire, completely unphased by anything as always, proceeded to slap and kick the plexiglass saving from hurtling carefree to certain demise.
We practiced riding the escalator together. Which she loved, particularly the bits where she got to swing from my hands over the tricky mounting and dismounting portions. I’ll tell you, friends, even through the consistently delighted and amazed eyes of my child at the wonders of escalator travel they remained persistently mundane even to the tenth sequential repetition.
You can see in one picture that she’s holding something. She found herself a discarded tag in the Macy’s. She diligently carried it about the mall searching for a strategic point at which she might store it, like a dog does a bone or a squirrell its winter acorns.
All in, it’s really rather nice to have a walking child. Though, I suppose there are the number of complications on the down side. Oh, the days when we could just stash her in a bundle on the couch and know that she would remain there. Now, our house is a mix of Loud Princess of the Galaxy Claire and the adult patter of “Oh, God, she’s got the…”
Also, as much as I know Istas loves the baby, she maintains a vigiliant Stink Eye for the Walking Princess.
Speaking of Walking. Have you seen The Walking Dead on AMC? Because you should.