Every day was a delight when I became a mother. Ginger was a living breathing miracle, as is every baby, but she was my miracle, my baby. She was healthy and happy for the first month of her life while I nursed her. When I was unable to continue to do so she became sickly and fussy. None the less she was a good and obedient child with an amazing ability to talk clearly at a very young age although she did not walk until she was 18 months.
My friends couldn't believe how obedient Ginger was (except that she loved paper). If I said, "No,no" or "ta,ta" she did not touch whatever it was - except paper. She loved how it rattled and crumpled or floated. If she could get her hands on a brown paper bag (not plastic) she could entertain herself for an hour. She would even stick her feet into it or put it over her head. Wrapping paper was a special favorite but since she liked to put it in her mouth too and I didn't like the inks to be ingested or get on things I limited that. If she could get her hands on a book, it invariably found its way to her mouth - she wasn't really interested in having them read to her but most books in our house had teeth marks on them or chewed corners.
I loved making clothes for her and dressed her for every occasion - mornings, naps, afternoons, and bedtime - not to mention walks or trips to town.
She seemed most to love eye contact and someone talking to her. As long as I put her where she could see me and talked she would smile and be pleasant. When she began to crawl she could scoot her bottom and use two hands to go faster than I could run to catch her but she never did crawl in the traditional way - she had her own unique way. This has been the case for all her life - she does things uniquely and when she is ready. Even her hair had a mind of its own - it didn't grow in until she was several years old.
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