Scooter MacGregor

Our friend Kirsten from New York (but now of L.A.) stayed with us from Tuesday through very, very early this morning. Molli adored Kirsten. She showed for her constantly. Everything she did, she would then turn to seek Kirsten’s eyes and see if she’d won her approval. We’re not sure what triggered the bond, but it was absolutely magnetic.

That’s not what I want to share with you today, though. What I want to share is that Molli has taken her first actual steps. There’d been a few on previous occassions, but I was the only witness and my testimony is not usually considered persuasive without corroboration. Well, thanks to Kirsten I got my corroboration yesterday: Molli was standing in the middle of the living room floor playing with her hairbrush, when I plunked the play table a few feet in front of her and told her to walk on over to it. And she did! It was only a step and a half, but she did it without lurching, without lowering herself, without throwing her arms up like some childish Fransktein impersonator. Even Kirsten gasped in surprise.

The experiment was not repeatable, but I think it does lend credibility to my two or three previous claims of her having taken a step here and a step there. (I will however confirm that none of the previous steps had been anywhere near as clear, direct, and unambigous as these.)

An hour or so later, Molli was playing recklessly with her Micki walk-wagon. (The Swedish one that’s not a doll stroller.) She’d taken to climbing into the damn thing and risking life and limb by throwing her weight around trying to get it to roll. We don’t like to see her take such risks, obviously, so I quickly rushed over to brace her and give her a little bit of a push so she could ride it the way she obviously wanted to. She squealed with delight.

We were making dinner. Farmor skyped. We were clearing and setting the table, arranging for Kirsten’s 4 am cab, doing 101 other little things that warrant no further explanation. And suddenly Trine froze where she stood in the dining room and said, “She’s strolling!”

I glanced over at Molli. It looked like she was just pushing her walk-wagon as normal, behind and a little to the side of it. Then I realized I was the victim of an optical illusion: she had one leg in it, her arms on the handle, and was pushing herself along the floor with her other foot! She was scooting! See for yourself:

She’s done it a couple of times since, too. It’s the damnedest thing. I don’t doubt that one of these days I’m going to get out of bed and find her scooting around the apartment, whistling as she goes.

* * *

While Kirsten was here she kept calling Molli “Molli MacGregor.” Trine asked why at one point. I anticipated the answer: “In Scotland that just means ‘child of Gregor!'” I replied enthusiastically.

Kirsten shook her head and laughed. “No, it’s a thing me and friend came up with when we were drunk at a party one night. We made up this character named [something] MacGregor. It just cracked us up.”

“And Molli reminds you of that character?”

“No, no, I just like saying Molli MacGregor.”

She really did.

* * *

I was so impressed with Molli’s scooting that I started calling her Scooter. She laughed the first couple of times I called her that. (She probably would have laughed anyway, but that would break up the narrative flow of the anecdote.)

So there you have it: Scooter MacGregor.

By the time you read this, I will have probably forgotten the anecdote entirely, however, so please bear with me if I react with confusion if you ever call Molli Scooter MacGregor.

She’s still our Molli Malou.

* * *

We’re going to try to take Molli with us to Fbg Garden tonight to see the Midsommer burning of the witch. Not sure if that’s gonna pan out (see today’s Almanac for more on that), but it’s worth a shot. Then I’m meeting John and Liam at Tivoli with Molli tomorrow afternoon, we’re going to a party at Klampenborg and a barbecue in the northern suburbs on Saturday, and there’s a baby group meeting Sunay afternoon. So although there won’t be more until Sunday night at the earliest, there should be plenty of Molli pix from this weekend coming your way next week.

Then we’re in the home stretch for her birthday! (And Deep River, your package has arrived.)

Now I have to run…