I just had to make a quick journal entry about Ham's new dainty ways. (Side note: I will not say "girly" to describe dainty behavior after reading the definition of girly, which says, "Weak, timid, or effeminate. Used of men.") No...don't like that much.
So, Ham is dainty...yet unbelievably tough. People often look at me with surprised loathing when Ham sprawls out after tripping over something (usually her own feet...much like her momma) and I barely bat an eyelash. She's just too much rough and tumble for me to react to every little stumble or fall. I'm not mean, I just know her.
So, indication #1 that she is becoming more dainty: She is now into bows. She likes to carry them around and she won't take them out of her hair if we put them there. (A big IF, because I usually don't think to accessorize her, although I do think it's adorable.)
The true test of daintiness (def: Delicately beautiful or charming; squeamish), came this morning when I was not paying much attention to Ham. I knew she was looking out of the window waiting for the neighbor's cat to make his appearance, so I didn't think much of it when she started whining as if to complain. I thought, "OK, she sees something she wants, but can't get to it. Or Tux (the cat) hasn't shown up yet." (I usually ignore whining unless she says, "Momma" and then signs 'help.') The whining soon increased and became more of a whimper. Before I thought to look, she began a pitiful sob and I could tell she was in some sort of pain.
I walked over to her (I try not to react 'violently' to her possibly, already painful, circumstances) and asked, "What is it, baby?" She stood there with tears running down her face, clutching a ball in one hand, whimpering and sobbing as if frozen with fear. Since she was standing in between the kitchen table and the window, I thought, "Oh my gosh, she really hurt herself." I thought maybe she banged her head on the table or something. I even scanned her free hand, now frozen with shock against the window, to make sure she hadn't gotten it stuck somehow.
I looked around and it only took a second to find the source of her horror.... A light brown, inch-sized cockroach. Still living, although barely moving, twitching its disgusting, whiplike antennae toward my baby girl.
For some reason, I began to mimic her horror and took great offense to this parasite...Ok, technically, it's not a parasite. I rushed to her aid with a paper towel that just so happened, thankfully, to be on the kitchen table and crushed the intruder. Ham looked up at me with almost as much horror as the roach's appearance had etched across her face. I almost felt bad for the little bugger...hahaha...the roach...bug.
I went against my usual compassion for anything living and did not feel bad for killing the nasty pest, but instead, said to Ham, "It's OK Baby, Momma got it. It's gone. It went 'bye-bye.'" I took it and flushed it and when I came back, Ham was still frozen, wide-eyed. I think she was just as surprised at her reaction as I was.
I held out my arms and she gave me a big hug and then toddled off to her basket of toys. It was as if nothing ever happened.
Today's reaction to the roach was a far cry from the reaction I saw on her face about 8 months ago.... The one I remember was an expression of immense satisfaction, as two little roach legs were dangling out of her mouth.
She's come a long way.