Rose has been literally eating up her milestones recently so I may have got a bit behind. She is now 9 months and a few days old, and she can: say lots of consonants and vowels (me and Jason differ as to whether ‘dada’ is an actual word if applied disinterestedly to objects, pets and people), pull herself up to standing particularly in her cot and then howl until somebody comes to rescue her, take steps while holding our hands, cruise along the sofa until she reaches the cat and then grab bits of the cat, move from one end of the room to the other without passing through space, she just is one place one minute and the other place the next, eat most things apart from cheese, point, turn the pages of a book, laugh when other people laugh, laugh at funny things we do (sensible girl), copy actions, sing along to music tunelessly, turn the pages of a book, pick up tiny things, hold her own sippy cup while drinking her milk, hold a long conversation using a whole range of types of raspberries, entertain herself by blowing very loud raspberries while in her buggy, embarrassingly, and I think possibly is beginning to realise the baby in the mirror is herself.
I left Rose at K’s while I went for a run this afternoon. When I picked her up K asked me if Rose had eaten anything red for lunch. She had indeed eaten summer berries con banana. K said oh yes, because she was a little bit sick and it was a funny colour. Later on I thought, if I was babysitting and a baby did a red puke I would think: holy fucking shit! This baby has just VOMITED BLOOD! What number is NHS Direct? What number is 999? What if I run out into the street and scream, will that help? And it’s not my baby! That is even worse in the guilt stakes! So fortunate that it wasn’t me looking after anyone.