The Baby is maturing rapidly, kind of like a fine wine or a good wheel of cheese. We can see differences every day now, usually different words she has learned. Yesterday, she found an old sun hat I had tossed into her toy basket, handed it to the husbeast, and said quite clearly, "Hat." I assume that she caught the word the day before when we'd put her own hat on her, outside, but you never know. The cat might have taught her. So far, she knows one color (blue), and one number (two). She uses them for everything. I am so amazed that she recognizes numbers (she will put her finger on any number in a book or on the ruler I use when I knit, and say 'two!') that I don't bother correcting her. I just agree, right, it's a number. Good for you.
In the jumble of about twenty often-useless words she knows ('wow' and 'cool'), she's also picked up "book". I gave her a new one the other day, and she carried it with her all afternoon, telling everyone "Book!" and paging through it over and over, even when we were changing her diaper.
As the husbeast put it, "Definitely your kid."
The sleeve continues. I'm quite enjoying a round (or ninety) of nearly mindless knitting.
You can see where the cuff bells out a bit; I wanted something graceful without worrying too much about what I'd drag the sleeve through. I think I got the right balance of length and practicality. Unfortunately the cast-on is all weird and ruffly, so as usual I'm going to pick it out and put in a different edge.
I've decided to go back to my original plan for the year, which was to keep two sweaters going at all times; one an original and one from a pattern (or adapted from a pattern). That way I can produce some new patterns without completely losing my mind. It also covers the Christmas knitting; I'm doing one original (I think) and one adaptation. Maybe. Probably. Unless I change my mind. Which never happens, right?
With the Baby more mobile and vocal than ever before, the cat has, to put it lightly, freaked out. And guess who her security blanket is? Of course. Me. The one she bites. (Some day I'd LOVE an explanation of cat psychology; I suspect it has a lot to do with feeling superior and abusing those that love you most.)
Most days are spent with her face mashed against my foot, desperately trying to ignore the Baby while she sleeps. Nights are spent with free run of the house, flinging kitty litter all over the floor and scratching the shit out of her scratching post and killing giant cockroaches that she leaves in the middle of the kitchen for me to find, while half awake, the next morning (often by stepping on them barefoot). It's the first time since I adopted Sekhmet that she's been noctournal. Normally she sleeps at night with me, and spends the days awake, running through the house.
Poor kitty. I wish I could nap like that.