I left Diana on her play gym, on her back, and went to make myself a cup of coffee. I don't like leaving her at all but I have gotten past the crazy/borderline-psychosis point of trying to take her into the bathroom with me (like I wanted to in the early days) and have now accepted that if I want to resemble a human at all, I need to occasionally let the kid be.So I dump her on a flat surface with a toy, close the door for a minute (don't want Bolshy bounding in!) and frantically take my two-minute shower/tear open a packet of ravioli/throw in a load of laundry, before running back to check that she's ok.
Baby D is content to kick away while lying on her back, but I have a tendency to be overly paranoid, so the episode usually ends with me huffing and puffing from running up the stairs, while Diana is calmly playing where I've left her.Until this particular day. When I came back, coffee in hand, Diana was on her belly. She had rolled herself upright, all on her own!
This might not sound like a big deal, but trust me, it's huge. I'm sure it's a significant developmental step (that, as her overly enthusiastic mother, I am far too impressed by), but that's not the only reason this has so vastly impacted my life. Baby D's been on a suicide mission ever since.Not only is Diana now an expert back-to-belly flipper, but this newfound mobility has unleashed a somewhat rebellious streak. Seats of any kind are no longer acceptable to baby D. So she has attempted to - while secured in, I might add - hurl herself from her pram, changing table, car seat and vibrating chair (she almost succeeded with that one, despite being strapped in, so the item is now banned). In fact, the floor still feels like the safest place for her, but who knows what perils are in store?