Exotic yet ordinary

Maya has become quite the little high pointer around the house lately. Her early climbing aspirations were small and easily managed. We would often discover her inching her way onto the couch, squirming into her stroller or unoccupied chair, or in the last stages of scrambling onto the coffee table (upon which she would promptly stand and do a victory stomp before one of her parents returned her safely to the floor).

Over the last week or so, she has set her sights a little higher. Bar stools, window ledges, and boxes are now sized up for climbing expeditions. Her most ambitious climb yet -- the two stacked storage bins that house the clothes we have no intention of wearing, but can't seem to part with. To make the ascent, she has to crawl onto the boxes we abandoned in the corner after unpacking the rest of the house. From there, she has to pull herself onto the nightstand and then clamber onto the storage bins to make the summit. She accomplished this feet in record time this afternoon accompanied by, appropriately enough, Dora the Explorer.

There was no victory stomp once she reached her perch. Oh, no. She just looked at me, peeked into the trash can, and pretended to spit. And then I returned her safely to the ground.

I was both amused and incredibly embarrassed by this action. You see, by pretending to spit in the trash can, she was actually, um, immitating me. During my pregnancy, I was plagued by phlegm. Horrible, nasty, gloopy globs of it. A noisy clearing of the throat followed by a semi-satisfying spit, became part of my morning ritual. This problem never completely went away after Maya was born. So, I regularly still have to contend with the muck. And I do this by expectorating into whatever is handy: a tissue, sink, or, yes, the trash.

It's nice to know I can instill bad habits without really even trying... I can't WAIT until she starts swearing like a sailor.