Search

Finding The Happy

Looking for joy in all the right places

Tag

dancing baby

Wiggle and Learn

I didn’t grow up with The Wiggles. Never even knew what they were until I got to Australia, and Tony filled me in on the back story. (i.e. “They used to be an Australian band and they had one hit. Then they switched to kiddie rock and roll and became huge.”)

I’ve always had huge reservations about TV “fanchise” merchandising. Not a big fan of children kitted out in Dora the Explora like toddling billboards for Nickelodeon. Their colours all tend to be bright and garish anyways. It’s a little snobby of me, I know. But I think of it as a healthy combination of cost-savings and good taste.

Then Arddun discovered The Wiggles, and I’m now this close to running out and dressing her up like a tea-drinking, handbag-toting yellow polka-dotted dinosaur.

The Wiggles are now a daily feature in our household. They have replaced my pilates workout on TV because I work up more of a sweat jumping along to Tie Me Kangaroo Down, Sport. It has also provided some mighty cute home videos that only doting parents with a blog account would love.

Arddun calls them the Tiddles. And she’s got some moves.

P.S.: These were taken on the last day of CNY – chap goh mei. That explains the gorgeous ching-chong outfit from her granduncle.

Month Eleven

Arddun in highchair

Month eleven - close up 1 Month eleven - close up 2 Month eleven - close up 3 Month eleven - close up 4

It continually freaks everyone in my mother’s group out that all our babies are 11 months old. Just one month shy of the Grand Milestone: the First Birthday. I vaguely remember carting Arddun around in cafes when she was as light as a feather, and looking at 11-month-old babies lolling about their highchairs and scoffing their grubby faces with their fat little grubby hands, and thinking, “Geez! They’re HUGE! I can’t imagine Arddun getting that huge! And I really like her this tiny. Please stay this tiny, Little Arddun.”

But then, she went ahead and thrived and grew. And time marched on. And suddenly we’re here. She’s eleven months old. Almost a year. And she’s huge. And bizarrely, even cuter.

What can I say about Month Eleven? She’s walking. Sorta. On carpet, she goes quite far on foot – perhaps to avoid carpet burn on the knees. But on tile, she walks two steps before she drops to her padded, dimpled knees and crawls away to whatever fascinating toy that has caught her fancy. Usually something plastic that makes a loud clackety-clack noise on tile when you drop it repeatedly.

She has her own timing, that girl. She tells you in her own way that she’ll walk when she’s ready. You know that thing where you try to hold her up by her hands so that her legs hang down and her feet touch the floor? And then you try to “walk” her by standing over her and holding on to her hands? She’s onto you like a snap. She turns her knees to jelly. Just keeps buckling her knees, so there is no way you can keep her upright. And her body? Also jelly. Suddenly, she’s invertebrate, and she keeps at it till you let go and she slithers to the floor before gleefully – GLEEFULLY – crawling away.

The girl has her own timing, the girl.

And her hair has gotten long. First, she looked like Kramer with her hair all standing. Then she looked like a little old man with a receding hairline. But now, her hair’s grown over her ears and she’s starting to look sweet. Feminine even. I’m wondering if it’s coincidence that she hasn’t been mistaken for a boy in the last month since her hair’s grown over her ears. But perhaps it has more to do with the fact that I dress her in cute stockings and pinafore dresses.

And black, shiny, patent leather Mary Janes. Don’t forget the Mary Janes.

And finally – Grey’s Anatomy.

For some reason, she adores the plinky-plonky of the song they play in the end credits. Because as soon as it comes on, she stops whatever she’s doing and stares at the screen. There’s this tiny giggle, like “Hey! It’s my song!” And then she starts to groove.

Don’t believe me? Watch.

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑