Cuddle No More

My 6mo daughter has just passed the cuddly stage into the boa constrictor stage. You know, the snake where you succeed in getting one part of it to stop strangling your neck, when you realize that another part of it is just about to smash your left kidney? I think AC has as many hands as Shiva. [Stopping to google how many that is, exactly. Oh, only four. Well, that's four too many on my girl.] She will clutch my hair right at the roots and tighten her fist while her two bottom teeth dig into my neck. Then just for fun, she lands a knee to my boob. Aaaah, what source of pain to address first? Any attempt to stop one mishap leads to the others being far more dire due to her displeasure at being thwarted.

I'm afraid the girl's gonna be a hellion. The teachers at N's daycare must assume I have a cat at home. I don't. I have a daughter whose pasttime while nursing is using her wolverine nails to prepare my forearms for fall planting. This afternoon she launched herself over the side of our bed. Luckily, I had her legs in my hands, so I held on tight. She hung there a moment, inches from the wood floor and staring into the dust ruffle, because I wanted her to get good and scared and maybe not do that again. She laughed. I cried. I think it's time to break out the bubble wrap jumpsuits, for both of us. Marshmallow helmets might also be a good idea.