Sabotage

The other morning I caught Polly trying to sabotage her stander.  She kicked it, she pulled off the strap, she tried to push  over the large wooden base.

For the past two weeks, she has stood for three hours, every day. 

At first she was indifferent to it.  I would tell her, “Polly, time to stand,” and hold out my left hand, palm down flat, as two fingers from my right hand made an upside down V on top of the surface.  Polly would shrug her shoulders and we’d began the various steps required to get in the stander.

Now she is more combative about standing.  She’s figured a few things out.  Like how to hike her little rear up over the thick leather strap that circles her middle, creating a ledge to sit on or how to pull the Velcro strap apart one-handed, while holding on to the other side of the stander.  She’s still standing, albeit begrudgingly.   

Although she and I agree that the stander, for us, is not where it is at, the strength she is acquiring is undeniable. Polly pulls up to stand all the time now.  She is an equal opportunity stander, giving the higher, slippery surface of the leather couch a whirl, slipping and falling as a wooden chair proves to be unstable. 

And she’s climbing the stairs.  After a slippery wooden stair or two, she stops, looks around for help, and makes some noise until a strong hand appears.  With support pressing against her back, she climbs her way to the top and giggles with delight over the sight of uncharted rooms, new toys to be examined, beds to pull up on. 

She loves her sisters’ rooms.  I see the twinkle in her eye when she pulls herself in, so much to see, so much to destroy.

Friedrich Nietzsche said, “What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.”

There are many things, too numerous and embarrassing to list, that I sabotage in my life.  I kick, I undo, I push.  My daughter, who is almost two years old, teaches me.  

 

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