Petra's 23 weeks old now. There continues to be more of her almost every day. More flesh, more noise, more movement, more personality.
She's grabbing at things we don't want her to grab now, things like the TV remote, my glass of orange juice, freshly washed clothes, my cellphone, books, and magazines (she tore Charlton Heston's obituary out of The Economist the other day and threw it on the floor – I guess she didn't approve of his stance on gun control). But she's not yet at the stage where she cares when we take things off her. She just moves on to the next thing.
She's developing physically all the time. She sits like a pro, leaning over, red-faced and precarious, to get at escaped toys and straightening herself up again. And she topples like a pro, falling onto her back with her legs in the air or onto her face. She's very nonchalant about these sudden changes in position, although she expects me to sit her up again promptly and complains when I'm not quick enough.
Her face has gotten more expressive and it's fun to watch her delighted reactions to things she sees and hears. If I produce a particularly favoured toy for her she beams at me. And when I start singing, especially if it's The Teddy Bear's Picnic, she turns to watch me and smiles those whole body baby smiles. She's a wonderfully uncritical and enthusiastic audience, appreciating my efforts no matter how quavery or off key I am. Poor old thing doesn't know any better yet!