As I sit down to start catching up on an overwhelming backlog of events considered momentous most generally by those to whom I am genealogically connected, it is hard to figure out where to start. Given that my and Rowan's lives have played out in this blog chapter by chapter, whereas Remy's has generally been the Cliff's Notes version, seems only fair to catch up on her first.
Most notably (and with the utmost of gratitude expressed by my mom and her very toned biceps), Remy is, as of August 30th, a full-time walker. After months, and I mean MONTHS, of intermittently striding here or there, she decided to commit herself fully to the cause, sparing untold numbers of leggings from holes in the knees. Can I get an Ayyyy-men??
It's worth mention that this commitment to walking came only after Mom went through the hassle of getting Remy qualified for physical therapy, which apparently you're eligible for if you're clinically stubborn. Remy celebrated her admission to the program by spontaneously walking around the house when the physical therapist came for her first session -- which, it turns out, qualifies you for immediate expulsion.
Approximately 10 seconds after the therapist said her first and final goodbyes, Remy dropped to her and hands and knees and resumed crawling for another two weeks.
TRUE STORY.
While some would suggest awarding her with a Gold Medal for walking, the fact of the matter is that she likely owes her walking to Gold Medal. Specifically Gold Medal's Unbleached, Unbromated & Enriched Better for Bread Flour, which Mom used to prevent the stroller from tipping backwards while Remy did her practice laps around the house.
Thanks to my mom's culinary challenges, that bag was nice and full, for added stability.
As part of her continued efforts to put floortime behind -- or, perhaps, beneath -- her, Remy has also started insisting on doing many of her favorite activities at the table.
Other significant milestones in the past two weeks include wandering into the pantry and signing "more" in an effort to eat on demand, followed soon thereafter by a newfound ability to open the freezer drawer -- a maneuver which requires her to grab onto the handle and pull back with the strength of a thousand men.
And then scream because, darn it, she can't actually reach anything.
Apparently realizing that you can walk around to the side of the freezer and easily access the ice cream is a 19- to 20-month milestone.
