The Hunt

It's wonderful to have a child who can feed herself. It's so freeing because I no longer have to roll the office chair over to the highchair in the kitchen and put each puff in her mouth and then each spoonful and then hold the bottle. I can sit in the office chair in front of the computer in the office and check email or... write a blog.
I'm writing this one just after she's finished and she's fussing in her highchair right now because I'm a little frustrated with her. I was over here reading someone else's blog while she drank her milk and then I heard the sound of the bottle tapping the tray, which meant it was not in her mouth. This is a very typical moment, by the way, lately... She's finished drinking and now she has a bottle in one hand and is looking at me, sitting straight up, just staring. I say "Ok, you finished? Very good. Mommy will come get the bottle." And I keep talking as sweetly as possible about how good she did and that she's all done while I quickly, but not too quickly cover the 6 feet or so of kitchen tile between us. In slow motion, I can see her moving the bottle out over the side of the tray. I try to move faster, but still not fast enough to make her drop it before I get there. I've tried lunging and yelling "NOOOOOoooo ma'am!" But it was already on the floor before I was halfway there. I feel like a tiger, but one who is trying to sweet talk it's prey into staying put. Still sing-songing how good she is, I keep eye contact and try to read any signals that she's about to let go. I'm one step away. "NOoooo ma'am!" I yell, leaping to try to intercept, as the bottle clatters to the floor... again. I smack her hand and firmly say "NO!"
She smiles sweetly at me and reclines. Then she signs "more." grrrrrr