By now, Dylan has excellent crawling skills (she's approved to crawl in most states), and, since nothing comes without a hitch, she's also broken her first tooth. So, instead of cutely crawling across the floor to get from toy A to toy B, she now feels compelled to put anything smaller than her head into her mouth. And so, when I write that this week Dylan really got a taste of what it's like to be a country girl, I, of course, mean that literally. Wood chips, snow, slow spiders, cat hair, something from the bottom of my boot, even Swedish Fish (I know, not too "country," but they are her dad's favorite food) have all found their way into her mouth. Last week, Regina found hay in her poop (Hay! I don't remember eating hay!).
I guess this is what all the cool babies are doing, but this stage makes us pang for the days of the toothless, stationary-baby (which was, I guess, just last Saturday). Now, along with bath, jammies, and bedtime book as nightly rituals, we've added "mouth sweep," and "diaper check." So far we've found a nearly cord of wood and a set of false teeth.
Just when we thought we couldn't be more vigilant, we've learned that the microscopic spec of a gnat's leg that we'd overlooked and the vacuum didn't suck up is fodder for Dylan. Her vision, especially at floor-level, must be 20/10 because she can spot a spec of dust from ten yards away, scamper over to it, and put it in her mouth before we can snatch an ankle and drag her back to her play toys. She'll also pick at dents in the flooring, mistaking the indentations for bits of dropped food. Our only solution for that is to cover the damaged spots with a throw rug.
I also learned, the hard way, that snow to Dylan is like the ocean or Santa Claus -- great for other kids, but suspicious as hell to her. Dylan wasn't too terrified when we put her on the snow disc and slid her around the backyard, and she didn't howl when I yanked it out from under her, and she didn't even squeal at three G's as I spun her in circles, but it was obvious that cold and snow are going to have to be an acquired taste. We'll wait until next year to unwrap that snowboard.
For now we'll keep scattering blueberries across the floor and hope that Dylan spots them before she finds the nest of spiders beneath the refrigerator or the pin I dropped but cannot find and remember to soak in every day, every moment, we have with our little bug.