This week is brought to you by the letter H. Your first consonant. Though, of course, the long strands of H's you strung together made sighing sounds. Your mom fed you and you sighed. Your dad handed you stuffed animals and you sighed. They changed your diapers, read you stories, sewed you dresses, and drew you pictures. Each parental act received the sigh it deserved, be it grateful or resigned. You also worked diligently to make softer sounds, softer sighs. It was a complementary linguistic development to the previous week's fiery, Chewbacca-infused declarations and lamentations.
You are also moments away from sitting up on your own. In fact, on a couch or other well-padded setting, you can maintain your upright countenance for some time. On a harder surface, however, say, the dining table or the trunk of the car, you're still bowling-pin tipsy.
You still dismay at tummy time, but nearly erupt with limitless laughter when you're standing, propped under the armpits by your mom and dad. But your mom and dad are working to lengthen your tummy-time endurance. As they say, you have to crawl before you can walk.
