Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Baby Steps

Before the deluge this next week will bring (Christmas, closing on our house, & a wedding . . . ), here's what Reagan & I have been up to lately.

At church in the Christmas dress her Aunt Lisa gave her for her birthday, Reagan is busy cutting a few top teeth:

She tries to keep a smile on her face, but cutting teeth, well, it bites (insert vampire humor here):

She met Santa for the first time:

I found this on sale at Target.  
Merry Christmas to me:

Reagan & I were in attendance at Aunt Jessica's bridal shower, which my dear friend Jordan graciously hosted since I still don't technically own my home, the original locale for the shower (until you sign all the papers, they're really uptight about giving you the keys to a house . . . I'll post a pic the moment the key is in my hand):

Jordan & my mom both collect Lenox Holiday, so we combined their china & it made for a lovely presentation: 


Some of the loot:

Reagan was mostly a blur at the shower.  In the past week, she's made great strides, literally, in her quest to walk.  For awhile, she's been taking three to four steps, & then collapsing to the safety of her knees &/or her cushioned, diapered bottom.  This last week, she has crossed our living room repeatedly, making it from the couch to the Christmas tree box (yes, it's still in the box) with ease & a great deal of glee.

Fun with reindeer antlers in Bible class (Reagan is the 2nd from the left):

Reagan's been spending some time in her pink gingham monogrammed chair her Daddy & I got her for her birthday. 

Sophie keeps it warm when Reagan is occupied elsewhere:

Reagan's fascination with our bookshelves is unending, & Tuesday morning I found her with my copy of Orwell's 1984 in her hands:

When I turned 18, I was a freshman at Harding University.  Trey & I had spent the majority of the previous summer together watching movies & playing cards.  At some point, being our cool selves, we'd had a discussion about 1984, which I'd never read in its entirety.  For my birthday, he mailed me a hardback copy, & now Reagan's favorite game is trying to make it to the bookshelves & pull this book before I can get to her.  I think it's the frilly tassel that draws her to it, rather than the lure of Winston Smith's story.

She knows she is not supposed to take the books off the shelves, but she usually leaves evidence behind:

Reagan (& her Daddy) are asleep in the recliner as I type.  Reagan is unaware of the things that will unfold, Lord willing, in the next ten days.  She was 12 days old on Christmas last year, & in those 12 days I'd had a total of about 12 hours sleep, so neither of us remember last year's Christmas with any clarity.  

Christmas 2010:

Last Christmas, neither Reagan nor I could hold our head up, for different reasons.  I am thrilled that we're both alert for the holidays this year.  I know that, much like her preference for the 1984 tassel, it will be the boxes, bows, & wrapping paper that captivate her, but I'm excited to watch her dive into the merriment nonetheless.  On New Year's Eve, she'll attend her first wedding.  She won't remember it, & will find her joy in something mundane like trying to eat one of the programs or removing her black dress shoes so she can chew on them, but I'm excited she'll be there with all of us.  

At present, we remain entrenched in our box-filled house.  I am beginning to feel like the girl who cried New House!  (we really have bought a house, I promise!).  Sometimes analogies slap you upside the head (if you're an English teacher, I guess), & watching Reagan finally cross the living room without falling, & with a bit of confidence & bravado even, is quite the parallel to our long & winding journey toward closing on the house we agreed to buy in the middle of October.  The path to close, at long last, seems to be cleared of debris, however I've learned my lesson & realize that at any moment, another hurdle might trip us up.  So, until there is a key in my hand, my hope & excitement remain boxed up tight, much like our Christmas tree, which, ironically, is where Reagan's living room crossings end.


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