Oh how I wanted her to be one of those genius babies that crawls when before they even eat solid food and could speak in sentences by the time they reached their first Birthday. I bought toys that encouraged walking, I placed her toys just barely out of reach in hopes she would develop some intrinsic motivation to get that darned toy. I started reading her books when she was still in the womb. I spent her entire infant life wanting her to be the smartest, the fastest, the tallest, the first to catch on to the next biggest thing, and then worrying about it it if she wasn't.
Today, I am delighting in watching our 9 month old baby girl sit on the floor and chew on all her toys only taking minor breaks to babble at them or me. With subsequent babies, I don't want them to crawl or walk so quickly because that's evidence that they're not little babies anymore. She'll do it eventually. I know I will soon crave the days when all I have to do is open a window to hear Lillie and Jack squealing in the trees, inventing new games, or even squabbling about if it's even possible for Jack to be Spiderman when he grows up. Lillie's relentless practicing her violin downstairs, Jack stomping around the house in his cape, Chloe's ma-ma-ma-ma-ma's--it's the noise that makes me want to turn off this computer, look around, and take this slow, hot summer all in. Growing up slow, the 1950's kind of growing up slow, is my new ideal. They'll be forced to grow up fast soon enough when the world makes them.
She grew up good, she grew up slow, like American honey. -Lady Antebellum "American Honey"
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