Rus Articles Journal

My small baddy of

to the Baddy of 7 months. It is not a krokhotulechka any more with delightful tiny fingers in whose spread wide helplessness the tragic element appears, and the obscured look not childly is confused. It is not the small larva which is quietly sleeping in the cozy nest whose insinuating bunch, whose frowned grimace wandering a smile and a tender yawn are capable to cause in us the real squall of emotions. No, now we deal with a varenikoobrazny physiognomy, with the running crafty eyes and a cunning odnozuby smile, from - under tow-haired a forelock.

We deal with the obscure mobile being taking an independent stand, the addictions and the vital purposes which it can defend with persistence and passion at which we cannot look just like that and stay idle. And with the heart which is breaking off with pity, we give to this being a spoon with porridge which right there flies through all kitchen as if a bomb, disseminating on the way nutritious contents with fruit smack. We give to these greedy, badly coordinated hands of part of the food processor which it with desire picks, ulegshis a stomach on a floor and frowningly darting at you approving glances, wagging a bottom in pampers. We can do nothing when the baddy tries to push in the greedy, expiring saliva mouth the panel from the TV, ignoring at the same time a set of absolutely tremendous prorezyvatel for the teeth which cost us in absolutely serious sum. We appear in the power of mixed feelings when, having caught sight of the vacuum cleaner, the baddy like mad rushes on all the 4 - x to grab a hose, inadvertently to lick to check for belonging to food, and then to climb up from above with a war-call and the shining eyes.

We have perfectly heard a lot

that it is necessary to broaden horizons of the baby, to acquaint it with all new and in every possible way to encourage his research heat. But how to be when one fine day you find the child standing at a kitchen locker and pulling easily giving in door? And then, a bit later, you alerted by suspicious, impossible silence in the apartment and after chilling searches find it, serious as a center of the universe, rummaging in the turned garbage can. Then urgent evacuation, bitter tears, moral pain and indignation begins, this tiny soul is restrained, its interests are not observed. Why mother can put something THERE, and I cannot? Why mother can stick and vytykat something from sockets? Why it is possible for mother in the washing machine and in a toilet bowl? Why there, above, in the adult world there is such interesting, such noisy life, and the baddy is offered bored, everything is motley - identical plastic features which except as her are interesting to nobody any more?

I I considering himself advanced, I, the kind and lazy mummy without will power and education spirit - I allow the baddy to rummage on kitchen regiments, to take out pans and to knock cups about a floor. I allow a baddy to gnaw legs from chairs and to belabor on the audio system. I allow this being to potter practically with everything on what his close attention falls (except sockets and all kolyushche - cutting). I do not insist on a day dream. I very sensitively approach a question of appetite and livelihood. I am not upset when my kid left literally for 5 minutes without the lower regimentals as if taking an opportunity immediately craps on a carpet and creeps, as soon as possible and as it is possible further, grabbing dirty hands everything that gets to the field of his sight. When my baddy does something really wrong what my brittle maternal heart for an instant fades with, and in lungs the heart-rending cry gathers … then I take in an armful of the synulyu, and I speak softly, but is sure: “No, Sashka, here you is not right“.

I we live, surprisingly harmoniously, in the atmosphere of mutual respect and boundless love. My child regularly creeps, independently gets up, holding a wall or furniture often only one hand, he to like to watch TV. Its spontaneity does not cease to bribe my affected maternal severity. And when he, quietly as if hesitating, speaks to me:“ Mammmma“, my soul exults, and I laugh together with him which is cheerfully knocking a hand on a svezhenapisanny puddle why cheerful yellow splashes fly nearly on meter around.

Olya