Gillian staggered through the open kitchen doors and slid the box of groceries on to the bench with her right arm and a nudge of her hip. Her handbag slid down to her elbow and she let it go further, to her hand, and tossed it in to the top of the box. Owen threw himself out, away from her body, so that he was unbalanced, and Gillian had to move quickly to not drop him to the floor. She shifted his weight to her other side but he squirmed and kicked against her and she quickly caved to put him to the ground. The kitchen was mostly baby-proof and there were barriers over the shallow stairs leading down to the lower-level living room and dining area under the conservatory glass. Gillian stepped over the blonde-haired thirteen month old and slid the kitchen doors leading out to the hallway closed to keep him contained. He wasn't crawling yet, or walking for that matter, but he could still move it when he wanted to.
"Oh!" Owen held up a wet fist to her.
"Hungry?" Gillian asked him, moving a 'C' hand down her body. She reached in to the box of groceries for the packet of hard biscuits he liked to cut his teeth on. She crouched down to his level, pulling the tab to open the smaller box in her hand and took one out.
"Ohhhh!" Owen exclaimed. "Mama!"
"Thank you," Gillian cooed, handing it over, and moving her hand towards her mouth, then out towards Owen.
Owen grasped the biscuit eagerly. "Oooh-oooh." He threw a hand in her direction.
Gillian stood again, taking the box to the pantry and putting it on the shelf. Owen bumped the hard cracker against the side of his mouth, before finding the gap and starting to gum it. Gillian headed back for the big box of groceries and took it to the bench by the fridge. She started to pack away the vegetables, the milk and cheese, and other perishables into their places. Cold fingers grasped at her calf and she looked down to find her son kneeling on his right leg and reaching up with his left hand; the right was still occupied with the teething biscuit. "Hi," she greeted him. Blue eyes looked up at her carefully. The cracker was waved in the air. "You have it," Gillian told him, stepping back gently, so she wouldn't knock him to the ground.
"Ba, ba, ba," Owen informed her.
Gillian smiled at him. "Is it tasty?" She made a 'K' hand and moved it from her mouth out to the full extension of her arm.
"Oh ap gizzle boo."
"Uh huh," Gillian agreed. She took her grocery box to the pantry and set it on the ground to unpack the pasta, jars of sauce, the snacks Lewis had for his school lunch and tins. Out of the corner of her eye she was aware of Owen scooting himself closer over the slate tiles. No crawling yet but Cal claimed he was going to skip that part all together and go straight to actual walking; he was cruising around furniture while hanging on to it.
When Owen was closer he steadied himself on one knee and one foot and leaned over in to the box. Gillian continued working but kept an eye on him; he could be trouble sometimes. She had found him one day in the en suite toilet. In the en suite toilet. With piles of toilet paper strewn around him and his clothes soaked through and a happy little grin on his face when he was busted as he tried to reach up for the button to flush. Gillian was horrified, and not just because the toilet also had a massive wad of paper pressed into the neck which had taken Cal hours to unplug again while he threatened to just call a plumber, but because of the germs. It only occurred to her afterward to be curious as to how he had pulled himself up there in the first place. After that, they toddler-proofed the entire house, crawling yet or not.
"Ohpff," Owen lifted a jar of jam out towards his mother, straining under the weight of it, like it was incredibly heavy. It was hard to tell if he was faking or not.
"Thanks," Gillian bent over to take it from him, signing the word again, and placed it on a shelf higher up. There were many interesting things on the bottom shelves that had not found a home higher up for two reasons; the first being that under no circumstances was the door to the pantry to be left open if Owen was in the vicinity; and the second was that there simply wasn't enough room in there. The pantry is where many things went to hide.
"Ohpfff!" Owen called again, right hand fisted around the hard biscuit, the fingers of his left hand splayed awkwardly around the top of a tin of baked beans.
Gillian quickly retrieved it from him. "That one was heavy huh?" She curled her hand upwards by her hip like she was holding something weighty in it. She put it on the shelf, waiting for Owen to slowly work the next tin closer to his body so he could lift it with his one hand. Gillian wondered if she should suggest he use two hands and then she wondered if he preferred to use his left, like his brother.
Owen made a kind of grunting sound as he leaned over the box and struggled. Gillian crouched down to help him and his head snapped up quickly, red with exertion. "NO!"
"I wasn't going to!" Gillian retorted, holding on to a shelf for balance. "Just when you're ready."
Owen looked up at her again, his blue eyes bright against the shock of blonde hair. Cal was adamant, the boy looked like his mother. But Gillian wasn't so sure. Owen's face shape was that of his father's, so were his eyes. Across fair skin there were freckles but the calculated expressions were straight from his father. Owen gathered the tin up in his arm, rolling it up the side of the box to gather in the crook of his elbow, then he awkwardly passed it over and ended up half-throwing it in Gillian's direction. It hit the other side of the box and clattered into the other tins still in the bottom, like pins under assault from a bowling ball.
"Thanks," Gillian took it, standing again to put it on the shelf. She heard Owen reaching for another one. When she turned he was practically standing on his hands without his feet on the floor anymore as he bent double to reach. He made those funny little grunting sounds he also made in his sleep that still rocked Gillian off to slumber listening through the baby monitor. If he was making noises, he was still breathing in his crib down the hall.
Gillian reached down and took the next can and put it on the shelf. Owen fell into the box and gave a disgruntled little cry and Gillian, despite her son trying to fend her off, picked him up to make sure he hadn't smacked his head or lip on the edge of the can. He seemed fine enough even as he protested being picked up. "I'll help you," Gillian told him, suddenly over waiting for him to 'help'; it took too bloody long. She held him around the waist, lowering him down to the box so he could pick up the last can. When she brought him to her hip he was smiling again, showing his neat white teeth. "Here," Gillian tapped the shelf where she wanted him to put it. Owen tried to reach out with one hand, his right one this time; the biscuit was in the box, discarded, but the tin was too heavy and he merely knocked it in to the wood of the shelf.
"Two hands," Gillian urged him and he complied, thunking the can of beans heavily on top of the shelf this time, then leaning back against her to claps his hands, pleased. "Yay!" Gillian enthused lightly and turned to head out of the pantry, kicking the now empty box in front of her. Owen kicked his feet and squirmed his body back and forth and gestured with his right index finger, signing 'down'. Gillian put him back on the kitchen floor and turned to reach for the box, sliding it along the floor towards her so it was out of the doorway and pushed the pantry door closed. She dug the teething-biscuit from the bottom and leaned down to give it back to Owen.
"Oh!" He snatched it back and stuck it in his mouth. Gillian turned the box upside down and placed it over his head. It was deep enough for the sides to almost reach the floor while Owen was sitting but it didn't entirely balance on his head. Gillian watched him shake it, as if he could dislodge the box from his cranium. It fell to one side and his feet flailed in the air while he fought to keep his balance.
Gillian giggled. She sat down in front of him and lifted the box up far enough to see his slightly panicked face. "Boo!" She let it go gently again as Owen gained his balance. She sat, waiting, wondering what he would do next.
Little fingers appeared at the edge of the box and it shifted backwards so his head was in the corner closest to where Gillian was sitting. His hair rustled against the cardboard and then stopped. Then the box lifted slightly, further and further until Owen's face was visible. He found his mother's eyes and started giggling. "Boo!" Gillian said again.
"Oooh!" Owen squealed and dropped the box and Gillian sat and waited once again.