The Big 01 or Wow, We All Made It
It's been one year, now, since the experiment formally known (and finally state registered) as Katrina Elaine Davis began. As a whole, things are advancing smoothly, though she's not yet talking (like I did at this stage), and she's not walking on her own quite yet, but she's close in both of these things. She does dance nearly perfectly to the beat of techno, deep house, some trance, and Jethro Tull. There is some singing attempted, though the register is off, she probably learned this from her mommy who hasn't been able to sing since her tonsils and adenoids were removed. Mommy officially reports no bitterness at this. None at all. She is sure the doctors and her parents made the only decision they could have with the information they had at the time. So what if she'll never be able to sing along to Stevie Nicks, Led Zepplin, or Journey and must now make due with Gordon Lightfoot, Cat Power, Issac Hayes, and Type O Negative? Really, no apologies for the gross loss of quality of life are necessary. I'm fine. *sniffle*
One can almost see her thinking through actions before she does them, this leads me to conclude that to do an act of evil is more a conscious decision than reaction to an infernal stimulus. Right now, for instance, she has discovered mommy's gel shoe insert, and cleverly thought to place the displaced item into a shoe of amma's that is slated to be sold on ebay. It is placed exactly as it is in mommy's shoe: pointed end forward, gel side down, in the ball of the shoe. One might not guess that she knows that mommy will be writhing in pain tomorrow at her work because her feet are un-cushioned, one would be wrong. She knows, why else the sinister smile in my direction? Oh, she fancies herself so sly.
The subject is healthy, robust even, though not overly nutrified as can be seen in many cases where the child will resemble Hervé Villechaize or a large, flushed, screaming tuber. Entropy can now be quantified as weighing 21 pounds in diaper and onsie, and measuring approximately 31 inches in length. This qualifies it to face forward in its car seat, for which the Subject seems somewhat more calmed, and yet stimulated to the point of not being able to go to sleep on long trips. I would include video of the devastation caused by this deceptively smaller storm as the cyclone of the same name which laid waste the Gulf Coast last year. Co-incidence? I think not.
There goes the cat food bowl. The poor cats are much distressed by this. Without a sandbox, the Subject makes due with dry kibble in stoneware bowls. She displays amazing adaptation skills, and frankly, these researchers are relieved she has not discovered the feline waste receptacle.
Okay, you've endured enough of the writing thing, on to the meat (or Tofuti®, for those of you who don't like tasty dead animals) of to-night's offering: PICTURES!!!!
Thanks be to Grandpa Charlie for donating his much-beloved Digital SLR (Canon D30 if you wanted to know), as a couple of the photos below are from it. Bless that RAW format, it lets me hide so many mistakes. The others were taken on my Canon Powershot (was Marti's - thank you for the deal, girl), and are more representative of my limited photographic skills.
Die erste foto is Kat helping me do dishes. We had to remove the silverware tray, she's got a big thing for knives - just like her mommy.
Here she is just a chillin' wit' her homie, Krikit, checkin' out the scene, doin' the night right.
Milk-drunk, again. One too many pulls from the teat. Someone should really cut her off before she starts doing impressions of the cats and passes out under the sofa.
"OMG! I, like, soooo LOVE you. Yeah! God, you're, like, so fuckin' cool! And that's not just the X and speed talking, I mean it! We've got this connection, like, like nobody else has or ever had! I love you, chica. We're soul-friends..."
'Ever since we paid visit to the Harker home, our dearest Katja has acted so strangely toward her nanny, nursemaid, and other house staff. Her once rosy complexion has grown pallid, her eyes do seem to glow, and she seems to have developed a peculiar sensitivity to sunlight, reacting as if pricked by a hot pin should but a small ray graze her exposed flesh. Tabatha, Katja's wet-nurse, says she has suddenly taken to biting hard at feeding-times, drawing blood at times, and then greedily suckling harder. We are at our wit's end, as most of the staff will have nothing to do with her now, and I have been resigned to watching her, myself, though I am ill equipped for such duty. She is the Devil! Everything within her reach is scattered broken upon the floor, and I can but steal a few moments when she has her attentions on some African doll or Cantonese bowl. The way she has looked at me this evening, as if I were just a thing to be chewed up and spit out... She does frighten me, I swear it! OW! Stay away child! Do not come up here. Stop at once! Dear God, nooo!"
And for the cutest of the July photos...
Today, we went to the doctor for her one-year checkup. Dr. Richter is so nice and a crunchy-ish mom, herself, so she is more familiar with the choices we've made regarding Kat's health care and our general nurturing style. In the office to-day was an intern doctor from Chicago who was really cool and asked a lot of questions, and I still forget her name. I can't vouch for her doctoring yet, but her bedside manner is well above par for the doctors I've met. Too bad Indianapolis is going to sap the energy from her in its unique way. Thanks to everyone for the gifts and cards for Kat's birthday. Sorry our phone is out of time 'till to-morrow, but we still have internet, so use the instant messenger, people! it's free, and some of them even have voice now. We did have an all-day sort of relaxed celebration with a the gifts from grandparents and us. She had a blast with the paper for a few seconds, the true test of the toys comes in a few weeks as she assimilates them into her playing rounds.
Okay, it's 10pm, what the hell are the neighbour kids doing up playing in the dark, outside? The youngest is just over 2, the oldest maybe 7, and they are never supervised by an adult. What's up with that? I so would have loved that arrangement when I was a far-ranging child! But as a responsible *ahem* adult and parent, that's not even close to safe. We have to move from here. Well, I've wasted enough time, I should get to dinner or cleaning up after the tiny typhoon or something that gets me closer to buying this. Nighty-night.
One can almost see her thinking through actions before she does them, this leads me to conclude that to do an act of evil is more a conscious decision than reaction to an infernal stimulus. Right now, for instance, she has discovered mommy's gel shoe insert, and cleverly thought to place the displaced item into a shoe of amma's that is slated to be sold on ebay. It is placed exactly as it is in mommy's shoe: pointed end forward, gel side down, in the ball of the shoe. One might not guess that she knows that mommy will be writhing in pain tomorrow at her work because her feet are un-cushioned, one would be wrong. She knows, why else the sinister smile in my direction? Oh, she fancies herself so sly.
The subject is healthy, robust even, though not overly nutrified as can be seen in many cases where the child will resemble Hervé Villechaize or a large, flushed, screaming tuber. Entropy can now be quantified as weighing 21 pounds in diaper and onsie, and measuring approximately 31 inches in length. This qualifies it to face forward in its car seat, for which the Subject seems somewhat more calmed, and yet stimulated to the point of not being able to go to sleep on long trips. I would include video of the devastation caused by this deceptively smaller storm as the cyclone of the same name which laid waste the Gulf Coast last year. Co-incidence? I think not.
There goes the cat food bowl. The poor cats are much distressed by this. Without a sandbox, the Subject makes due with dry kibble in stoneware bowls. She displays amazing adaptation skills, and frankly, these researchers are relieved she has not discovered the feline waste receptacle.
Okay, you've endured enough of the writing thing, on to the meat (or Tofuti®, for those of you who don't like tasty dead animals) of to-night's offering: PICTURES!!!!
Thanks be to Grandpa Charlie for donating his much-beloved Digital SLR (Canon D30 if you wanted to know), as a couple of the photos below are from it. Bless that RAW format, it lets me hide so many mistakes. The others were taken on my Canon Powershot (was Marti's - thank you for the deal, girl), and are more representative of my limited photographic skills.
Die erste foto is Kat helping me do dishes. We had to remove the silverware tray, she's got a big thing for knives - just like her mommy.
Here she is just a chillin' wit' her homie, Krikit, checkin' out the scene, doin' the night right.
Milk-drunk, again. One too many pulls from the teat. Someone should really cut her off before she starts doing impressions of the cats and passes out under the sofa.
"OMG! I, like, soooo LOVE you. Yeah! God, you're, like, so fuckin' cool! And that's not just the X and speed talking, I mean it! We've got this connection, like, like nobody else has or ever had! I love you, chica. We're soul-friends..."
'Ever since we paid visit to the Harker home, our dearest Katja has acted so strangely toward her nanny, nursemaid, and other house staff. Her once rosy complexion has grown pallid, her eyes do seem to glow, and she seems to have developed a peculiar sensitivity to sunlight, reacting as if pricked by a hot pin should but a small ray graze her exposed flesh. Tabatha, Katja's wet-nurse, says she has suddenly taken to biting hard at feeding-times, drawing blood at times, and then greedily suckling harder. We are at our wit's end, as most of the staff will have nothing to do with her now, and I have been resigned to watching her, myself, though I am ill equipped for such duty. She is the Devil! Everything within her reach is scattered broken upon the floor, and I can but steal a few moments when she has her attentions on some African doll or Cantonese bowl. The way she has looked at me this evening, as if I were just a thing to be chewed up and spit out... She does frighten me, I swear it! OW! Stay away child! Do not come up here. Stop at once! Dear God, nooo!"
And for the cutest of the July photos...
Today, we went to the doctor for her one-year checkup. Dr. Richter is so nice and a crunchy-ish mom, herself, so she is more familiar with the choices we've made regarding Kat's health care and our general nurturing style. In the office to-day was an intern doctor from Chicago who was really cool and asked a lot of questions, and I still forget her name. I can't vouch for her doctoring yet, but her bedside manner is well above par for the doctors I've met. Too bad Indianapolis is going to sap the energy from her in its unique way. Thanks to everyone for the gifts and cards for Kat's birthday. Sorry our phone is out of time 'till to-morrow, but we still have internet, so use the instant messenger, people! it's free, and some of them even have voice now. We did have an all-day sort of relaxed celebration with a the gifts from grandparents and us. She had a blast with the paper for a few seconds, the true test of the toys comes in a few weeks as she assimilates them into her playing rounds.
Okay, it's 10pm, what the hell are the neighbour kids doing up playing in the dark, outside? The youngest is just over 2, the oldest maybe 7, and they are never supervised by an adult. What's up with that? I so would have loved that arrangement when I was a far-ranging child! But as a responsible *ahem* adult and parent, that's not even close to safe. We have to move from here. Well, I've wasted enough time, I should get to dinner or cleaning up after the tiny typhoon or something that gets me closer to buying this. Nighty-night.