The Blankie

In recent weeks, Punky has become increasingly attached to her blankie.  It used to stay in her crib at all times.  Now she's taken to carrying it around the house (and tripping over it) many times throughout the day.  If she's playing in her room and notices it in the crib, she will stick her arms between the bars and stretch as far as she can to reach it and drag it around for a while.  And if she can't reach it, she lets me know.

I read that early on most babies develop an attachment to some sort of comfort object.  She didn't show signs of attachment until recently.  In fact, it seems like the more bottles we took away, the more attached she became to the blankie.  Hmmm... I never thought of it that way before.  I wonder if it is truly connected.  It would make sense because bottles had definitely become a source of comfort for her.

When I was young I had a small, stuffed doll.  It was actually a pillow in the shape of a doll, the front and back simply sewn together and stuffed.  I called her Annie.  We had a german shorthair at the time (this was prior to the development of my extreme allergy to all animals) and he rather enjoyed ripping Annie to pieces at every available opportunity.  My mom had a stash of patterns and would quickly sew another one to spare me the devastation. 

Aside from my Annie, I also had my blankie and I slept with tucked up under my chin every night until the summer I was twelve.  It was in rough shape by then but I would probably still have it if Granny didn't decide I was too old for it.  It met its end in a fire ring at a campground in New Jersey.

At any rate, the blankie Punky adores is tan chenille with a little picture of a frog in one corner.  It was part of the collection that matches her crib bedding.  I loved it from the moment I saw it in the store.  It is so incredibly soft, very warm yet light and breathable, and the frog is adorable.  I put it on my registry but didn't expect to get it as a gift.  To be honest, I thought it was way too expensive for such a little piece of fabric.  I never would have bought it if I saw it on someone else's registry, nor would I have gone back and bought it on my own for Punky if I didn't get it at my shower.

But alas, someone did buy it (and I would really need to go back through the list I kept to figure out who) and it ended up being the blankie I used most for Punky right from the start.  Thirteen months in to her amazing life, the blankie is starting to fall apart...and her insistence on dragging it all over the place isn't helping one bit.  Neither is the fact that she started chewing on it in her crib before falling asleep.  I cut long strings off of it almost daily so she doesn't choke or strangle herself.  At this rate we'll have a washcloth by spring.

So, unlike my prepared mom with her stash of Annie patterns, I have no back-up blankies for when there's nothing left of this one.  My heart sinks thinking about how I'll have to tell her that her blankie's all gone.  If she had only gotten attached to regular ol' receiving blankets like my nephew (he calls them his woobies and sleeps with four of them every night).  They are easy to come by and a dime a dozen.  Sigh.

Last week my guilt got the best of me as I watched her with her blankie...pulling it from her crib, dragging it to the living room, snuggling on the floor and burying her face in it, smiling up at me and looking so happy...  The search was on for a back-up blankie.

As I expected, it didn't go well.  When I registered for my shower over a year and a half ago, I was informed the bedding set I picked out had been recently discontinued by the manufacturer.  I was assured that the stores had plenty of stock yet so people wouldn't have trouble getting the items I wanted in the short term.  And they were right, I got most of the matching pieces I wanted for her nursery. 

After searching the store site, and then the manufacturer's website directly, and then a whole host of discounted baby stuff sites, I resigned myself to the fact that her blankie was discontinued and completely irreplaceable.  I moved on to plan B - searching for a similar chenille baby blanket.  I know I can't slip a cheap imitation in without her noticing it is different; I just think she'd warm up to a new blankie quicker if it at least felt the same.  But night after night of surfing the web, I wasn't happy with anything I found.  I was prepared to call off the search.  She'll get over losing her blankie.  I did.

A few nights later I went to check on her and watched her sleeping in her crib...all cuddled up with her blankie.  A sharp pang of guilt poked me again and I vowed to give it one last shot.  In a matter of three minutes...I found her blankie!  Not a similar blankie...her exact discontinued blankie!  Part of me was expecting a "sorry, this item is no longer available" email, but I got the tracking number today.  Yay!

I was fully prepared to pay the high price for the blanket, but to my surprise it cost only about a third of the original price.  So I ordered three of them. I planned on spending that amount anyway and now I have my stash of back-ups for when disaster strikes the blankie.  And I feel like a good mama.

Thirteen Months

Punky is thirteen months old today!  How time flies...

She has changed so much in the past month.  Comparing her to how she was at her birthday is like comparing two totally different children.  Once she began walking she seemed to change almost daily as she made new discoveries and learned new things.

Two weeks ago I sat with her while she played with her cookie jar toy.  For whatever reason, right from the beginning I would always tell her the colors of things as we played together and she attempts to say them sometimes.  I wondered though if she really understood the concept and knew her colors, even if she can't say the names yet.  She had five different color cookies (plastic shapes) in her cookie jar and I asked her to hand me each color in turn.  She got every one correct.  Hmmm...

Thinking it may have been a fluke, I repeated the test a few more times and asked for the colors in a different order each time.  Completely correct each time.  She knows her colors.  Wow.  It simply blows my mind.

This month she has also learned how to point as a means of communicating what she wants, and how to grab you by the hand and pull you where she wants you to be...whether it be to play with her, read to her, get her a snack...she takes you to it and points and attempts to tell you what she wants if she knows the word.

She also points at object in books and tells you what they are, or waits for you to tell her.  There is a picture of an apple in one of her books.  She points to it and says ball.  I tell her it's an apple.  She again points and says ball.  I say apple.  She says ball...louder.  If give up and tell her it's a ball.  We can work on apple some other time...balls are more fun anyhow.

She is still getting into everything, even more so now, and simply saying 'no' isn't having the same effect on her as it used to...she likes to see just how far she can push it sometimes.  It's really time to be consistent and hold our ground with her.  This could very well be the turning point where she will either learn to behave or learn to be a brat and get away with things.  It's hard to be tough when she's so darn cute...giving you that adorable, angelic smile while she shakes her little finger right back at you. 

One night while I was getting her bath ready, she was playing with her blocks and she wanted to toss them in the tub.  I told her she has lots of bath toys and that she didn't need the blocks, too.  She listened and put her blocks down, but when I turned to check the water temperature, a Reader's Digest came whizzing over my head and into the water.  Well...technically I didn't tell her the book couldn't go in the tub, so I had to let that one slide.  Little stinker.

But, a few days later when she followed me in the bathroom, she threw one of her bath toys into the toilet before I was able to flush.  That one I didn't let slide.  She definitely needs to learn not to throw stuff in the toilet, especially since she keeps trying to flush it and I don't take too kindly to picking things out of an unflushed bowl...  Gross!  And the bath frog went right in the garbage.  No harm done...she has a bag of them and won't even miss one.

On Sunday, we had our first experience with a bloody boo-boo.  With her daredevil attitude I'm surprised it took this long to see the red stuff.

What happened? Neither one of us can say for sure. She was looking out the dining room window, like she does many times each day, and suddenly she was screaming. Our guess is that she tripped and banged her chin on the window sill. Her two tiny bottom teeth must have really slammed into her upper gums and blood was running from her mouth.

Talk about a damn heart attack! When I saw her bleeding I went into full panic mode...for about thirty seconds. I can't say how, but I actually managed to calm right down and keep it together while we figured out where the blood was coming from, what to do to soothe her, and how to stop the bleeding. It was scary, but we all made it through the ordeal.

After the crying eased up a bit, we gave her some tylenol right away in anticipation of the sore mouth she'd have for a few days. I also drew her a bath, knowing that it would both calm her and distract her. It worked for the few minutes she was actually in the tub, then she went right back to crying and whining. It was only seven-thirty, but I knew her bottle and blankie would soothe her and I wanted to do whatever I could to help. She drank the milk and was asleep on me in the rocker by quarter to eight.

I expected a rough night, or that she would be wide awake by five a.m., but she slept right through till after seven the next morning. She must have been completely worn out from the company we had over the weekend as well as the trauma of the newest boo-boo.  

I have been slacking in the picture department this month, but he's been shooting tons of video of her.  My next task is to figure out the best way to store all of those files somewhere.  Anyway, I wanted to do a photo shoot for her birthday and never got around to it so my plan is to attempt it this weekend.  A month late but oh well.  She doesn't sit for a second now, so I may fail miserably.

Punky has really gotten the hang of dancing this month.  Boy can she shake that little toosh...for entire songs at a time.  Whenever she hears any music, she starts to boogie.  Do I even need to say how freakin' adorable she is when she dances?

She still has a great appetite and rarely refuses anything.  We have eliminated all bottles, except the one right before bed, with absolutely no problem at all.  As I expected, the night time one is proving difficult.  It is pure comfort, not necessity, but I don't think she's ready to let go yet.  She is still drinking some of the second stage formula every day, but is getting better with whole milk now.  It seems she is starting to like it, and her digestive system is finally adjusting to the proteins.  For a week or two, she was blowing out diapers and I was close to saying forget it.  Too messy.  But it seems her body has worked it all out and we are back to regularly scheduled, manageable poops.  I know...TMI...

I don't know if I've ever posted about Punky's Jeopardy obsession before, even though it's been ongoing since she was born.  I try not to let her watch much TV.  She may glance here and there at a cartoon in the morning, but nothing really holds her attention...until Jeopardy comes on in the evening.  When I tell her Jeopardy is coming on, she squeals in excitement and runs to the TV.  During the opening music she claps her patties and bounces up and down.  And then she stands there...almost mesmerized as clue after clue appear on the screen.  She claps along with the people in the audience.  I don't get it.  I can't seem to understand how a program like that can hold a baby's attention, but she loves it.  My sister even joked that we should've had a Jeopardy themed first birthday party.  Maybe we'll actually do it for her next birthday.  Strange little girl I have...

All in all, she's doing great.  She is learning things quicker than I ever imagined was possible, and every day is a new adventure...  It's exciting to see her discover and develop, yet part of me does miss the tiny little baby I held in my arms for hours just one short year ago.  

Most nights she goes to bed awake.  She does well with putting herself to sleep; I usually have to go in once.  It's part of our routine and she never falls asleep until after I have gone back to check on her.  Once in a while, maybe one night a week if I'm lucky, she will fall asleep in my arms on the rocking chair.  When she does it's hard for me to put her down, and it's getting harder every time.  I just can't help but wonder what if...what if it was the last time she would ever fall asleep in my arms like that...  It's really the only reminder I have left of exactly what it was like to have that little baby in my arms... safe, warm, content.  She is growing up so fast and any time can be the last.

Brittany's Mother

I ran out on my lunch hour to get gas.  I wouldn't have bothered if I was sure I would make it home tonight.  There is a gas station up the road from the house and it is much cheaper in PA than NY, but I didn't want to chance it.

Anyhow, I ran in the store to grab some gum and was waited on by a young girl.  Given that it was the middle of the day on a Tuesday, she must be done with high school but looked like she just had her sweet sixteen party this past weekend. 

"Do you have a daughter Brittany?," she politely asked while scanning my gum.

"No."  I responded in the same polite tone.

"Oh," she said.  "You look like her, that's why I asked."

Keeping in the spirit of light-hearted conversation I jokingly added, "No, I only have one daughter and she's only one so I doubt you know her."

"Oh...wow!" 

Her response cut like a knife.

I know the written word can be tricky so let me elaborate... 

It was not an "oh wow, the Brittany I know is much older than one so you're not her mother..."

It was not an "oh wow, how sweet! You have a beautiful one year old little girl at home..."

It was without a doubt an "oh wow, you have a one year old?  God, you look too old to have a baby that young..."

Ouch.  As I envisioned myself leaning across the counter to smack her, I wondered how this happened.  That was me, not so long ago...

The other night I stumbled across an episode of Roseanne while flipping through the channels before bed.  When it was on years ago, I always identified with Becky.  She was closest to my age.  She had an annoying little sister.  Her parents were old and trying to be cool but failing at it.  At the time, I was Becky.  Whenever I see a re-run, I would return to that old perspective while watching. 

In this particular episode, Roseanne's age on the show was revealed.  Thirty-seven. 

Shit!  That's me now!  I am no longer Becky.  I am Roseanne.  I am a mom.  I am out of shape.  I am old.  I am not cool. 

I can never watch that show with my old perspective again.  It's ruined.  And Becky's a little snot.

I will be thirty-seven in less than a month.  I am starting to dread birthdays more every year.  To those who say it's just a number, I say bite me.  It's not just a number and you know it.  If saying it makes you feel better then good for you.  It's no consolation to me.

I think part of my problem in accepting my age now is the fact that I'm finally where I thought I would be...at about age twenty-seven.  I'm running ten years late.  Somewhere along the way, I lost an entire decade. 

And it pisses me off that now I feel some obligation to morph into the girly-girl I never was.  I'm proud that I can shower, get dressed, do my hair, apply just a touch of makeup, and be out the door in twenty minutes flat.  As close to natural and as easy a possible...and that used to be good enough.  I don't even use freakin hairspray.  I never messed with creams, lotions, masks, dyes...too much unnecessary hassle.

Apparently now it's necessary.  Dammit.

I guess every woman comes to this realization at some point.  Some choose to ignore it while others embrace it and run with it.  I'd love to ignore it but I can't.  I need to be a runner because I'm an old mom to begin with...as indicated by the "advanced maternal age" sticker slapped on during pregnancy...and I really don't want to go jail for beating someone senseless when they mistakenly refer to me as Punky's grandma at her third grade Christmas play down the road. 

Bring on the hair dye.  And the anti-wrinkle slime.  And the face mud.  And all the other crap that costs a fortune and barely works.  May as well get started with maintenance before everything totally goes to hell.  Guess I have some shopping to do.  Sigh.

No, I'm not Brittany's mother, but thanks for asking and ruining my day. 

Where Are Your Pants?

I walked in the door after work yesterday and Punky came toddling to greet me with her usual wide, happy smile. 

"Hi baby girl!" I said with excitement to match the look on her face.  "Where are your pants?"

Her dad pokes his head out from the pantry.  "Go ahead, tell her what you did..."   Uh-oh. Someone's in trouble...

Although technically safe by legal standards, our tap water leaves a lot to be desired in the taste department so we frequent a fresh mountain spring not far from the house.  The jugs we fill at the spring are lined up on the floor in the pantry.  Punky likes to play in the pantry.  You can see where this is headed.

Her dad was only a few feet away washing some dishes in the sink.  Once he turned off the running water, he heard a noise that didn't sound quite right so he turned around to see what she was doing.

Somehow, some way, she managed to get the lid off one of the largest jugs in the closet.  I assume it wasn't screwed on as tightly as it should have been.  She then proceeded to tip the jug on its side and create her own bath time on the pantry floor.  I wish I was home to see it.  With how much she loves playing in the water, I bet she was absolutely thrilled until Daddy spoiled her fun! He was mopping up the mess when I got home. 

In addition to her missing pants (which was all he thought to pull off her), her socks were totally soaked, her shirt was far from dry, and her hair looked like it does after her bath.  I cleaned her up and got her in warm, dry clothes while he finished tackling the mess. 

This goes on top of the list as the biggest mess she's made thus far.  But seriously, that floor really needed a mopping so she kind of forced us to finally do what we'd been putting off for weeks.  And it was only water, so no permanent damage done. 

And, the best part of all, it happened on Daddy's watch and he got stuck with the clean up.  I doubt I'd be as amused and calm if the tables were turned. I bet he keeps the pantry door closed from now on...like I do...

Remember that frozen pizza, Daddy?  Payback's a bitch. 

Mommy Blogs

I've wanted to post about this for a while but never found the time to do it.  I heard on the news that "mommy blogs" are the fastest growing category of blogs on the internet.  Guess I'm riding a trend I didn't know existed.  Surely this qualifies as one, but I grimace at the thought of being categorized.

Before starting this blog last June, I only read a handful of blogs.  And by that I don't mean regularly.  I just happened to stumble upon a blog here or there and would read a post or two of it and then move on, usually back to whatever I was looking for/at in the first place. 

I had two main motivations in starting a blog: First and foremost, after struggling to maintain a paper baby book or finding a safe, easily accessible place to keep a digital one, I wanted somewhere to keep track of Punky's development at my leisure in a form that would be truly enjoyable for me.  I always loved writing.  I'm hardly the scrapbooking type...

Secondly, I was hoping writing would have the same benefit for me now as it did when I was younger.  Somehow, getting things down on paper made them easier to deal with and I used it as a way to help cope with whatever life threw at me, both good and bad.  I got away from it once I "grew up"... I guess that's what you'd call it anyway.  Graduated from college.  Got a job that didn't require a uniform.  Got married.  Bought a house.  Yada yada. 

Since starting this blog, however, I have read many blogs, a handful quite regularly, and some of them fit the "mommy blog" category.  It is comforting to see how others handled the very issues I am facing now and also what I may be in store for in the future.  I have found some shining examples of truly funny mommy blogs that grabbed my attention from the get-go and made me an avid fan.  Others though, the majority I've seen, appear to be nothing more than online photo albums with one line comments so family and friends can see how/what the little ones are doing. 

The purpose of this blog, for me, is more about the opportunity to write than posting pictures or daily updates of who did what and when.  It was never my intent to write solely about Punky or motherhood.  I had hoped to have the time to make it much more than the mommy blog it's turned into... It's nice to know that people read this and follow along as I fumble my way through motherhood, but in the end I am writing for Punky.  When she is older, she will have a bird's eye view into her childhood that can't be attained through pictures.  She will truly know her mama, what makes me tick, how I think... She will see how much I will always love her, and how that love will ultimately shape the people we both become over the years.

So yeah...I guess I'll graciously lean in and accept the "mommy blog" stamp on my forehead.  Maybe one day I'll have the time to lighten the ink.

Punky Knievel

My child has no fear.  None.  Zip.  Zero.  Zilch. 

It's quickly getting to the point where I literally can't take my eyes off her for thirty seconds, and silence signals trouble now more than ever.  The boo-boo tally has made quite a jump lately...five yesterday alone in just the few short hours I spent with her in the evening.  At this age, telling her to be careful is as effective as singing the alphabet.  She doesn't know what it means, but she tries to repeat it back to me while she continues to do whatever she is doing that could lead to another boo-boo.  Ugh.

So, my sister bought Punky a rocking horse for her birthday.  Nothing complex, it's just a small, plastic horse that sits directly on the floor.  It has a seat where the saddle would be, handles sticking out the sides of its head, and the bottom is rounded slightly for some mild rocking action.  It took Punky no time at all to figure out how to get herself on and off of it, how to rock back and forth, and even how to spin it around in a circle while rocking.  She really loves it.

Saturday night, I watched as Punky played with the horse for a while.  She would get on...rock a few times...get back off again.  She repeated this routine a handful of times while Mama clapped proudly and told her what a big girl she is, and how smart she is, and how fast she learns...blah, blah, blah...

I reached for my bottle of water and took a long drink.  When I glanced back towards Punky, it didn't register as first but within seconds I realized she was standing on the seat of the rocking horse, bent over holding the handles, and rocking it back and forth for all she was worth.  Of course I flew across the room and grabbed her before she dumped it, and she found my sudden burst of action absolutely hysterical.  Needless to say, she kept trying to do it again but I sat right next to her and tried to make her understand the best I could that standing on the horse is a big fat no-no. 

Apparently, she didn't get the message.  She gave up trying until I walked into the kitchen for a few seconds.  Sneaky little shit.  I came back just in time to see the horse tip and Punky hit the floor sideways.  Her poor little head...another encounter with the carpet.  And then she cried.  And cried.  And cried some more.  Usually she brushes it off within a minute and is back to playing but this time she cried for close to ten minutes.  I was really getting worried when she finally calmed down. 

I posted before about my mom's theory that sometimes Punky will need to get hurt in order to learn not to do something or how to do it the right way.  I am still hoping to find a better option to teach her such lessons, but the shoe fit in this case and the damage was already done so I was curious what would result from her boo-boo.  Did she learn a lesson?  Would she even remember getting hurt?  Would she now have some level of fear towards the horse and avoid it entirely?  Would she attempt that stupid stunt again?

Fifteen minutes later I got my answers:  No.  Doubt it.  None at all.  Certainly.

One good head bang and ten minutes of crying taught her absolutely nothing remotely resembling a lesson (except maybe that Mama will hold, rock, and kiss a crying baby until the crying stops).  If she could actually remember the accident from just a half hour earlier, there were no signs she was thinking about it at all as she got back on the horse (literally - too funny!)  New fear developed?  Not the tiniest hint of fear anywhere.  She passed on riding it the right way, even for a just minute to appease her mama, and went right back to standing on it.  The horse spent the rest of the night in the coat closet.

Even though she just really got the hang of walking on her own two short weeks ago, she spent Friday walking backwards through entire rooms at a time...and ultimately falling over everything in her path.  She tries to pull herself into the bathtub head first and will eventually succeed I'm sure.  She still climbs up on the basket chair if she has the opportunity.  She climbs up on the bed in her room when she can.  Again I attempted to show her the right way to get down by sliding off on her belly.  After doing it for her repeatedly by dragging her off the bed feet first, I put her back up and told her to show me how big girls get down off the bed.  She flashed me a smile and ran for the edge of the bed without hesitation.  If I wasn't standing right there, she would've landed on her face.  Sigh.

My job, above all else, is to protect her and keep her safe.  She's giving me a run for the money in this department.  She just turned one; what stunts will she be pulling at two?  I have a feeling I may be 'that' mom.  You know the one...whose child jumps off the roof with kites strapped to her arms in an attempt to fly...

I am thankful she's so tiny.  It's still virtually impossible for her to climb out of her crib.  But knowing my little daredevil, she's already plotted her escape route and is patiently waiting for her body to grow the two inches necessary to put the plan in motion.  Never has the phrase "too smart for her own good" been more applicable than it is to my Punky Knievel.

Ten Pounds on the Nose

Punky had her one year check-up yesterday, and it was no surprise she's still a peanut.  At birth she was 7 lbs 4 oz.  One year later she is 17 lbs 4 oz.  A whole ten pounds. She grew nine inches though, from 19 at birth to 28 inches now.  Still clinging to the 5th percentile...

Everything checked out fine at her appointment.  The doctor was really running late so Punky had a lot of time to run around the waiting room and pick up germs.  Yay.  It was filled with coughing, sneezing, whining little kids...and Punky would've touched them all if I let her.  I'm far from a germophobe, but when it's obvious why not avoid it?  She's only had one episode I can really call a cold, and that was at twelve weeks.  I'm proud she's been so healthy this year, and I didn't want to ruin that track record.  I guess I'll know in a few days if she gets sick...

She also got five shots, including the first part of the H1N1 vaccine.  Three in one thigh, two in the other.  She screamed bloody murder from the first one right through the last.  Poor baby.  It seems the older she gets, the more she cries with the shots.  I guess that can seem logical in a sense.  Anyway, she was not in the least bit amused and it didn't help that she was starving since the appoinment ran almost two hours late.

I have done so much reading about vaccinations in the last few months...to the point where I did hesistate a brief second when asked about giving her the swine flu vax...but I'm just not convinced they are as evil as the non-vaxing community believes they are.  To each his own, of course, but I can't knowingly leave my baby defenseless against things that can be prevented.  The small risks from the vaccinines do not even come close to all the potential risks from not being vaccinated.  This is my opinion, I've done all the homework I care to on the subject, and I'm really not interested in hearing any more anti-vax arguments so save your breath.

Anyway, Punky hit all her milestones and then some.  The doctor seemed surprised at how well she is walking and the list of words she can say.  So far she is developing perfectly, both physically and mentally. 

The doctor was also able to confirm something I've noticed many times but never thought to question: Punky looks yellow.  Sometimes, in certain lighting, her normally pale skin appears yellowish.  The doctor said she can tell the baby really likes squash and sweet potatoes by her yellow skin tone.  Apparently it is common in fair skinned babies...

Are you freakin' kidding me?  What the hell do they put in those little jars?  It's next to impossible to get the stains out of her clothes and bibs, but I didn't realize it would stain Punky herself from the inside out!  Geez...  At least I know I'm not seeing things now, and I can stop trying to wash the yellow off thinking it's food left over from the previous meal.  No wonder she's starting to hate getting her face washed...Mama keeps doing it for nothing...

That reminds me of my mom with my sister when we were kids.  She had really fair skin and in the summer sun the freckles would pop out all across her face and nose.  My mom would forget about it from year to year, and my sister would spend the first few weeks of each summer washing her face a hundred times because Mom kept telling her it was dirty and to go wash it.  Finally the light would go on and Mom would realize it was freckles, not dirt, on her face...thankfully before the poor kid was rubbed raw from all the washing.  Just a funny memory...

The doctor also warned of some potentially dangerous things to look out for now that Punky is toddling along...lamp cords, blinds, cleaning products, etc.  I think we are pretty safe in regards to all that usual crap; it's the climbing that I'm worried about now.

The footstool has taken up permanent residence in the basket chair to prevent Punky from getting in the chair.  She didn't need the footstool to climb up; the footstool is on the chair just so she has no room to pull herself up on it.  He took it down for a minute last night and just that quick, with both of us only a foot away, she climbed right up and was standing against the back of the chair.  Mom said I was a climber at that age...guess she got something from me. 

The doctor also instructed that Punky needs to be completely off the bottle before her next check-up at fifteen months.  Yikes.  I've known about it, I've done my reading, but this is one milestone I am dreading.  She loves her bottle, her ba-ba, and I'm not expecting it to go well.  I don't think it will be too much of an issue except right before bed.  When she gets tired, she whines for it.  It's her cue to calm down and get ready for bed.  I rock with her while she drinks it, then we go in her room and dance in the shadows for a few minutes before I lay her down.  It's our routine.  It's been that way for months.  I fear she will scream non-stop if I break routine and just put her to bed.  I've said many times how easy everthing has been with Punky, but this time I truly think I will need all the help I can get.  Wish me luck.