How I woke up today

So tired, even though it isn't very early. Someone is squealing and yelling "Ah-a!" from the other room. It's Morgen calling for her daddy. Gavin sighs, scratches all over, making sandpaper sounds that somehow manage to cover the noise of the baby squeaking and squawking until he leaves the room. Blissful few more minutes of sleep. Then, footsteps in the hallway. Gavin says "Who's that Morgen?" I raise a sleepy hand. Morgen says "Mama!" And that's the best way to wake up, ever.

(Somewhat Reluctant) Evolution

Well, my maternity leave is officially over. On Friday I trudged into school, where I researched items to add to my reading list, was reassigned to my carrell in the lower level of the music library, met a friend for lunch, and then tried not to fall asleep over a book called "Music of the Cosmos".  I spent far too long checking my email for updates from Gavin about how Morgen was doing, since she had a mild fever the night before. He sent me one at three thirty. I decided it was time to go home, and tried to go at a steady pace instead of scrambling out of there as quickly as possible. Not that he had said anything alarming - just that she was happy and having a great time playing and laughing. "Really," I was thinking to myself, "we're going to put Morgen into daycare, where she will also likely have a great time playing and laughing, so that I can do this? Is that what I really want?" Questions, questions.

Included in this post, for the frustrated grandparents in our viewing public, is not just one, but four new pictures of Morgen's week. Notice her increasing interest in the cat, and in kicking  her ball...and this morning, she said "Mamama," when she wanted to get my attention. 

She can also meow like a cat. Still waiting for "Dada."

Eleven months old and learning about "cold"

 
We're trying to teach Morgen about opposites these days, but sometimes I think we're just teaching her that the best toys are the things Mommy and Daddy get to play with. Take this pop can, for example. It's cold. But it's also pretty cool, especially when you figure out that you can drum on it with your tiny fingers. This exercise only serves to remind you that your fingers are fun to chew.

Throw a rock anywhere in our living room...

 

...and you'll hit a stuffed animal. 

Pointy Finger

For some time now, Morgen has been making use of her pointy finger, and of her flail-y hand. Gone are the days of unhappy stroller rides. Now, Morgen goes out on the town ready to point, flail, or squeal at just about anything that moves, or if immobile, at anything even remotely interesting.

 

While we pushed her along on her morning outing today, I kept remembering a visit to Port Dover, pre-Morgen. We rented a little row house, spent a week exploring the town and local regional attractions, and shyly returned the cordial greetings of the townspeople. These greetings began as soon as we stepped out of the car with our suitcases (a neighbour from three houses over and across the street called "Hello"). Today Morgen waved and squealed and smiled at dozens of Torontonians, their dogs, cars, and children, but not one of them waved, pointed, or squealed back. Some elderly ladies smiled at us, which was nice. I think Morgen might like to be a small town girl.