Beach baby

So far I've managed to resist buying Liza a sandbox (although the ones I've seen on the Step 2 web site are sooo tempting), but we're probably going to get one this summer. In the meantime, Liza has been enjoying Burnam Court Beach:

Yes, that's a Pyrex pan filled with cornmeal ... or at least it was filled until Liza got hold of it. I forget where I read the suggestion, but I didn't come up with this on my own - but I'm glad to report that it is an effective way to see how much "sand" the kid will eat, and whether she'll be freaked out by the feeling of it on her hands or feet.

Cleanup is fairly easy - I just pick up the rug and shake it out in the flowerbed outside the back door. It's much cheaper than getting the sandbox all set up, too, although I think I'm going to have to invest in a new container of cornmeal before I make muffins again.

(I've tried about 10 times to attach a picture of her with sand all over her face here, but it ain't happening. Darn blogger site ... anyway, the black-and-white shot I posted a few days ago shows the same thing.)

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Speaking of Step 2, when Liza starts cruising, this Kangaroo Climber is TOTALLY mine ... er, hers.

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And speaking of cruising, my daughter is still a blob. She sits well, but she can't get into the sitting position, we have to put her there. She stands well, but she can't get into a standing position, we have to put her there. She's starting to take some tentative steps when we hold her hands and rock her forward (it looks like Frankenstein with a leg cramp, and I keep having to repress the urge to moan "Brainzzz! Braiiiinnnnzzzz!" like a zombie whenever she steps). But she's pretty tentative about the whole moving process ... as far as we can tell, she'd be content to sit on the floor in the family room for the rest of her life, as long as we keep bringing her new toys and food and clean undies.

I can hear you all thinking, "Well, duh. Just don't bring her what she wants, and she'll get off her butt and go get it eventually." Yeah, that's what all the books say, but so far, it ain't happening. At first she used to struggle for a while, then the frustration would get the best of her and she would just sit (or lie) there and wail for as long as we'd let her. My personal best was an hour and a half ... an hour and a half of listening to her soul-deadening scream because she couldn't figure out how to roll herself over. It's not like she doesn't have the muscles - I mean, if you can do a pilates move that raises your head 6" off the floor and your feet 12" off the floor, you should be able to sit up, for God's sake (there would be a photo here if blogger would let me attach it ... grrr).

Anymore she doesn't even bother to try, she just screams. And I can't take the screaming - I'd need a lot more Zoloft to be magnificently unfazed by the screeching - so I help her. It's like she's decided that sitting up is beyond her, and she just doesn't want it bad enough to keep looking like an idiot when she fails ... kind of like me when I was trying to learn to skate backwards when I was in 2nd grade, only falling on skates hurts a lot worse than straining to sit up, kiddo.

I asked Liza's pediatrician about the situation when we were there for her 9-month appointment, and he basically gave me the "babies develop at different rates" line, and told me that the only hard-and-fast rule is that if the kid isn't walking independently by 15 months, then they need help. Well HELLO, maybe some early intervention could prevent that from happening. I've been fighting the urge to go back and ask for a PT/OT referral, hoping that she'd work some of this out on her own. But my God, the kid is almost 11 months old and SHE CAN'T SIT UP ON HER OWN. I'm going to call the pediatrician this afternoon, and if he won't refer me, I'll find someone who will. I have the feeling that an hour or two of therapy could fix the whole thing and get something to "click" in her head, but maybe that's just hopeful thinking. Or maybe I'm overreacting and she's supposed to be a lump when all the other kids her age are rolling or crawling or cruising or walking wherever they want to go. But I'll feel really bad if at 15 months someone tells me my lumpy kid could have been mobile this whole time if only we'd had an early intervention when she was, oh, 9 or 10 months old ... so I'm calling the doctor. Today. I swear.