Baby Pip is 9 months old today. Out for almost as long as she was in. I think 9 calender months is about 39+2 and Pip came at 40+5 so not quite a precise measurement, but near enough.
Im not sure which is more surreal actually; that Pip is as old as another whole pregnancy, as it feels much longer somehow, or that in 3 months time she will be 1…
The last month has marked her most explosive learning curve yet. She can crawl, fast. Pull herself to standing. Make a variety of sounds and react to tone and expression to have a ‘conversation’ of sorts. She can feed herself from her bottle, her water cup and her plate. Catch sight of herself in the mirror, or another baby, and she will wave. She can clap, do high fives and laugh uproariously at things she finds amusing.
Sounds idyllic? Well, she’s also developed an iron will. If she doesn’t want to lie down for a nappy change, well, she jolly well won’t. Wear her bib? Don’t be so bloody stupid. Keep on her socks when she’s decided she’d rather be bare foot. Lie down and sleep because mummy has a headache and doesn’t want to get out bed, well, I think you get the gist.
So, 9 months. I genuinely couldn’t even think this far when she was born. It seemed she would be a needy newborn forever. And now, she’s barely a baby at all. Hard to believe that she’s an actual human now, rather than say a cat, who will always stay roughly the same. Surreal, I think is the word. And I still haven’t got used to the idea that I’m her mum. I’ve grown used to looking after her, but mums have always been grown up adult people to me. I’ve a hard time realising that’s me too now. Even though I have all the outward signs, it still doesn’t seem possible.
(when she wakes up from her nap, I’ll try and take a photo & add it )