But Juniper isn't the only one surprising this household with growth. I've sworn for the past two years that I would start onions in February, dammit, but for some reason it never happens and I start them in March or April along with everything else and I end up transplanting these pencil-lead thin little hairs out to my garden and the whole thing just seems ridiculous.
This year, I started early by golly. But in my desperate, goal-attaining attempt to plant earlier in February, rather than later, I planted on the wrong day. At least, that is, according to my Planting by the Moon calendar. (And if you don't believe in moon-cycle planting, get this: last year I planted a bunch of tomato seeds one day, then a second planting of the SAME SEEDS just three days later. My first planting did awesome. My second planting, which was not on a good moon-planting day, did jack. I mean, they germinated, grew 2 measly sets of leaves and just stayed like that, two inches tall, for months.) So, I am happy to report that despite having planted onions one day off from the correct moon-day, they germinated in less than a week and are sprightly and way too thick.
J bug's growth may seem more subtle than onions, but to me every little change is so huge and amazing--it's hard to even imagine how much crazy stuff is going on in that little head of hers. What do they say? Adults use, like, ten percent of our brain capacity or something? Just think how stressed out us adults would feel if we were cutting teeth and learning to sit and learning to grab things and learning to pass objects from one hand to the other and if practically everything we touched was so brand new and overwhelming we just couldn't take it anymore and had to go right back to sucking our fists. Just think.
:: The first signs of teething.
:: Learning to sit.
:: Well, almost.
:: Grabbing and tugging on dad's beard. Too bad, he shaved it off this morning.
:: Oh, and she's no longer satisfied just watching me make cookies; she has to participate.