My baby started solids early, cereal at three months and baby food at four months. Now she is five months. I feed her cereal twice a day (morning and evening) and 1 jar stage II baby food for lunch. I was wondering when I could replace that evening cereal feed with a [...]
Our rabbit had five babies together, all in the nest box. Four of the babies are staying together in the next box, in the hollow dug out by their mom, but one baby keeps crawling out and across the nest box, away from the other babies. How to I keep them together?
My sister-in-law is having her first baby. My mother-in-law threw her a baby shower 2 days ago and invited the entire family. It was a large shower. Today in the mail I received an invitation for another baby shower for her that is being thrown by a close friend who was in attendance at the [...]
I just found a baby lizard in my kitchen and i caught it. I was wondering if it would be okay to feed it to my baby corn snake (13 inches long)? I know in the wild baby corns do eat small lizards, etc. My only concern is if any parasites can be transmitted?
I am expecting my baby in another 4 weeks and busy wrapping up all the shopping. I am planning to use Olive oil for body massage. Can anyone of you suggest what I should be using for baby’s head? Is olive oil safe to use or is there any other oil that is advisable for [...]
I have a six month old baby how many jars of baby food should he eat daily ???
“What do you see up there, O pine-tree?” asked a little vine in the forest.
“You lift your head among the clouds tonight, and you tremble strangely as if you saw wondrous sights.”
“I see only the distant hill-tops and the dark clouds,” answered the pine-tree. “And the wind sings of the snow-king to-night; to all my questionings he says, ‘Snow, snow, snow,’ till I am weary with his refrain.”
“But the prince will surely come to-morrow?” inquired the tiny snowdrop that nestled close to the vine.
“Oh, yes,” said the vine. “I heard the country folks talking about it as they went through the forest to-day, and they said that the prince would surely come on the morrow.”
“What are you little folks down there talking about?” asked the pine-tree.
“We are talking about the prince,” said the vine.
“Yes, he is to come on the morrow,” said the pine-tree, “but not until the day dawns, and it is still all dark in the east.”
“Yes,” said the fir-tree, “the east is black, and only the wind and the snow issue from it.”
“Keep your head out of my way!” cried the pine-tree to the fir; “with your constant bobbing around I can hardly see at all.”
“Take that for your bad manners,” retorted the fir, slapping the pine-tree savagely with one of her longest branches.
The pine-tree would put up with no such treatment, so he hurled his largest cone at the fir; and for a moment or two it looked as if there were going to be a serious commotion in the forest.
“Hush!” cried the vine in a startled tone; “there is some one coming through the forest.”
The pine-tree and the fir stopped quarrelling, and the snowdrop nestled closer to the vine, while the vine hugged the pine-tree very tightly. All were greatly alarmed.
“Nonsense!” said the pine-tree, in a tone of assumed bravery. “No one would venture into the forest at such an hour.”
“Indeed! and why not?” cried a child’s voice. “Will you not let me watch with you for the coming of the prince?”
“Will you not chop me down?” inquired the pine-tree, gruffly.
“Will you not tear me from my tree?” asked the vine.
“Will you not pluck my blossoms?” plaintively piped the snowdrop.
“No, of course not,” said Barbara; “I have come only to watch with you for the prince.”
Then Barbara told them who she was, and how cruelly she had been treated in the city, and how she longed to see the prince, who was to come on the morrow. And as she talked, the forest and all therein felt a great compassion for her.
“Lie at my feet,” said the pine-tree, “and I will protect you.”
“Nestle close to me, and I will chafe your temples and body and limbs till they are warm,” said the vine.
“Let me rest upon your cheek, and I will sing you my little songs,” said the snowdrop.
And Barbara felt very grateful for all these homely kindnesses. She rested in the velvety snow at the foot of the pine-tree, and the vine chafed her body and limbs, and the little flower sang sweet songs to her.
“Whirr-r-r, whirr-r-r!” There was that noisy wind again, but this time it was gentler than it had been in the city.
“Here you are, my little Barbara,” said the wind, in kindly tones. “I have brought you the little snowflake. I am glad you came away from the city, for the people are proud and haughty there; oh, but I will have my fun with them!”
Then, having dropped the little snowflake on Barbara’s cheek, the wind whisked off to the city again. And we can imagine that it played rare pranks with the proud, haughty folk on its return; for the wind, as you know, is no respecter of persons.
“Dear Barbara,” said the snowflake, “I will watch with thee for the coming of the prince.”
And Barbara was glad, for she loved the little snowflake, that was so pure and innocent and gentle.
“Tell us, O pine-tree,” cried the vine, “what do you see in the east? Has the prince yet entered the forest?”
“The east is full of black clouds,” said the pine-tree, “and the winds that hurry to the hill-tops sing of the snow.”
“But the city is full of brightness,” said the fir. “I can see the lights in the cathedral, and I can hear wondrous music about the prince and his coming.”
“Yes, they are singing of the prince in the cathedral,” said Barbara, sadly.
“But we shall see him first,” whispered the vine, reassuringly.
“Yes, the prince will come through the forest,” said the little snowdrop, gleefully.
“Fear not, dear Barbara, we shall behold the prince in all his glory,” cried the snowflake.
Then all at once there was a strange hubbub in the forest; for it was midnight, and the spirits came from their hiding-places to prowl about and to disport themselves. Barbara beheld them all in great wonder and trepidation, for she had never before seen the spirits of the forest, although she had often heard of them. It was a marvellous sight.
“Fear nothing,” whispered the vine to Barbara,—”fear nothing, for they dare not touch you.”
The antics of the wood-spirits continued but an hour; for then a cock crowed, and immediately thereat, with a wondrous scurrying, the elves and the gnomes and the other grotesque spirits sought their abiding-places in the caves and in the hollow trunks and under the loose bark of the trees. And then it was very quiet once more in the forest.
“It is very cold,” said Barbara. “My hands and feet are like ice.”
Then the pine-tree and the fir shook down the snow from their broad boughs, and the snow fell upon Barbara and covered her like a white mantle.
“You will be warm now,” said the vine, kissing Barbara’s forehead. And Barbara smiled.
Then the snowdrop sang a lullaby about the moss that loved the violet. And Barbara said, “I am going to sleep; will you wake me when the prince comes through the forest?”
And they said they would. So Barbara fell asleep.
Whirr-r-r! whirr-r-r! whirr-r-r!” said the wind, and it tore through the streets of the city that Christmas eve, turning umbrellas inside out, driving the snow in fitful gusts before it, creaking the rusty signs and shutters, and playing every kind of rude prank it could think of.
“How cold your breath is to-night!” said Barbara, with a shiver, as she drew her tattered little shawl the closer around her benumbed body.
“Whirr-r-r! whirr-r-r! whirr-r-r!” answered the wind; “but why are you out in this storm? You should be at home by the warm fire.”
“I have no home,” said Barbara; and then she sighed bitterly, and something like a tiny pearl came in the corner of one of her sad blue eyes.
But the wind did not hear her answer, for it had hurried up the street to throw a handful of snow in the face of an old man who was struggling along with a huge basket of good things on each arm.
“Why are you not at the cathedral?” asked a snowflake, as it alighted on Barbara’s shoulder. “I heard grand music, and saw beautiful lights there as I floated down from the sky a moment ago.”
“What are they doing at the cathedral?” inquired Barbara.
“Why, haven’t you heard?” exclaimed the snowflake. “I supposed everybody knew that the prince was coming to-morrow.”
“Surely enough; this is Christmas eve,” said Barbara, “and the prince will come tomorrow.”
Barbara remembered that her mother had told her about the prince, how beautiful and good and kind and gentle he was, and how he loved the little children; but her mother was dead now, and there was none to tell Barbara of the prince and his coming,—none but the little snowflake.
“I should like to see the prince,” said Barbara, “for I have heard he was very beautiful and good.”
“That he is,” said the snowflake. “I have never seen him, but I heard the pines and the firs singing about him as I floated over the forest to-night.”
“Whirr-r-r! whirr-r-r!” cried the wind, returning boisterously to where Barbara stood. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere, little snowflake! So come with me.”
And without any further ado, the wind seized upon the snowflake and hurried it along the street and led it a merry dance through the icy air of the winter night.
Barbara trudged on through the snow and looked in at the bright things in the shop windows. The glitter of the lights and the sparkle of the vast array of beautiful Christmas toys quite dazzled her. A strange mingling of admiration, regret, and envy filled the poor little creature’s heart.
“Much as I may yearn to have them, it cannot be,” she said to herself, “yet I may feast my eyes upon them.”
“Go away from here!” said a harsh voice. “How can the rich people see all my fine things if you stand before the window? Be off with you, you miserable little beggar!”
It was the shopkeeper, and he gave Barbara a savage box on the ear that sent her reeling into the deeper snowdrifts of the gutter.
Presently she came to a large house where there seemed to be much mirth and festivity. The shutters were thrown open, and through the windows Barbara could see a beautiful Christmas tree in the centre of a spacious room,—a beautiful Christmas tree ablaze with red and green lights, and heavy with toys and stars and glass balls, and other beautiful things that children love. There was a merry throng around the tree, and the children were smiling and gleeful, and all in that house seemed content and happy. Barbara heard them singing, and their song was about the prince who was to come on the morrow.
“This must be the house where the prince will stop,” thought Barbara. “How I would like to see his face and hear his voice!—yet what would he care for me, a ‘miserable little beggar’?”
So Barbara crept on through the storm, shivering and disconsolate, yet thinking of the prince.
“Where are you going?” she asked of the wind as it overtook her.
“To the cathedral,” laughed the wind. “The great people are flocking there, and I will have a merry time amongst them, ha, ha, ha!”
And with laughter the wind whirled away and chased the snow toward the cathedral.
“It is there, then, that the prince will come,” thought Barbara. “It is a beautiful place, and the people will pay him homage there. Perhaps I shall see him if I go there.”
So she went to the cathedral. Many folk were there in their richest apparel, and the organ rolled out its grand music, and the people sang wondrous songs, and the priests made eloquent prayers; and the music, and the songs, and the prayers were all about the prince and his expected coming. The throng that swept in and out of the great edifice talked always of the prince, the prince, the prince, until Barbara really loved him very much, for all the gentle words she heard the people say of him.
“Please, can I go and sit inside?” inquired Barbara of the sexton.
“No!” said the sexton, gruffly, for this was an important occasion with the sexton, and he had no idea of wasting words on a beggar child.
“But I will be very good and quiet,” pleaded Barbara. “Please, may I not see the prince?”
“I have said no, and I mean it,” retorted the sexton. “What have you for the prince, or what cares the prince for you? Out with you, and don’t be blocking up the doorway!” So the sexton gave Barbara an angry push, and the child fell half-way down the icy steps of the cathedral. She began to cry. Some great people were entering the cathedral at the time, and they laughed to see her falling.
“Have you seen the prince?” inquired a snowflake, alighting on Barbara’s cheek. It was the same little snowflake that had clung to her shawl an hour ago, when the wind came galloping along on his boisterous search.
“Ah, no!” sighed Barbara, in tears; “but what cares the prince for me?”
“Do not speak so bitterly,” said the little snowflake. “Go to the forest and you shall see him, for the prince always comes through the forest to the city.”
Despite the cold, and her bruises, and her tears, Barbara smiled. In the forest she could behold the prince coming on his way; and he would not see her, for she would hide among the trees and vines.
“Whirr-r-r, whirr-r-r!” It was the mischievous, romping wind once more; and it fluttered Barbara’s tattered shawl, and set her hair to streaming in every direction, and swept the snowflake from her cheek and sent it spinning through the air.
Barbara trudged toward the forest. When she came to the city gate the watchman stopped her, and held his big lantern in her face, and asked her who she was and where she was going.
“I am Barbara, and I am going into the forest,” said she, boldly.
“Into the forest?” cried the watchman, “and in this storm? No, child; you will perish!”
“But I am going to see the prince,” said Barbara. “They will not let me watch for him in the church, nor in any of their pleasant homes, so I am going into the forest.”
The watchman smiled sadly. He was a kindly man; he thought of his own little girl at home.
“No, you must not go to the forest,” said he, “for you would perish with the cold.”
But Barbara would not stay. She avoided the watchman’s grasp and ran as fast as ever she could through the city gate.
“Come back, come back!” cried the watchman; “you will perish in the forest!”
But Barbara would not heed his cry. The falling snow did not stay her, nor did the cutting blast. She thought only of the prince, and she ran straightway to the forest.
I know a little boy, named Johnny. He is a fat, rosy little fellow, as round as a dumpling. He has two large black eyes, two small pink ears, two sweet red lips, and only one little white nose.
“Oh, what a pity!” said Minnie.
How the children did laugh, when they heard little Minnie sigh, and say this; but their mamma kindly continued. Put your hand up to your face, Minnie, or look in the glass, and you will find that Johnny had just as many noses as you.
“I’m so glad,” said Minnie, with a merry little laugh: “tell more mamma.”
I suppose you use your two bright eyes, to look at every thing with. So did Johnny.
When he was quite a little baby, his eyes sometimes got him into trouble; if he saw a pin, or a button, or little bit of thread on the carpet, he would creep up to it as well as he could, pick it up with a good deal of trouble, because his fingers were so fat, and he did not know very well how to use them; and pop! it would go right into his mouth.
You see, he had been here in this world such a very little while, that he thought every thing in the world was made to eat. Sometimes he would try to eat his own toes; and once he got the end of his nurse’s nose in his mouth, and gave it a good nip with his two little white teeth; and was very angry, and cried very loud, because she pulled it away. He was only a baby you know. Such a dear little fellow.
Johnny liked, of all things, to be put in his little bath-tub, half full of water. The moment he saw the bath-tub, he would begin to jump and crow and laugh, and when he was undressed, and lifted up to be put in, his little feet would kick in the air, as if he meant to jump over the moon! When he was in the water, Oh! then was the time for fun! such a splashing and dashing and thrashing as the water got! Such a noise! you could hear him squealing with delight all over the house, and very often every body in the house would come up to look at him; even the cross old cook. She was never cross to Johnny; she would come in the room, and opening her eyes would exclaim:”My Sirs! if Johnny don’t look just like the gold Koopid, straddling over the top of the looking glass in the parlor.” He did look like a little fat Cupid. Any picture of a little fat Cupid will show you how Johnny looked when he was a baby.
When Johnny was almost a year old, his mamma and papa took him to church to be christened. Do you know what that means? It means that they would promise before all the people in church, and what is a great deal more solemn, before God, our Father in Heaven, to do their best to make little Johnny a good child, to teach him to love, fear, and serve Him all the days of his life. They would give their dear child to God.
When the time came for them to go to the church,Johnny had clasped tight in his fat fingers, a little wooden horse, about half as long as Minnie’s arm, with only one leg, and a very short stump of a tail. The little fellow had managed to break off the long tail and three legs, but he didn’t care, not he! one leg was enough for him; he loved the horse dearly, and sucked his head very often and banged it against the floor, and kissed it and took it to bed with him every night, and plunged it, sometimes head-first, sometimes tail-first, into his cup of milk every day, so that the old horse had a very nice time.
When they tried to take it away from him, Johnny began to cry as loud as he could. He was only a baby you know, and did not know that an old broken wooden horse ought not to go to church, so he puckered up his face in such a dismal manner, that his mamma thought it best to let him keep it; and he carried it to church in a state of perfect delight, sucking the head all the way.
When Johnny’s mamma and papa stood up with him before the minister, what do you think happened? Something surprising! for he let his nurse take the old horse out of his hand and never missed it. He kept perfectly still.
The truth is, that he was wondering very much what in the world the good minister had on the top of his nose. It shone like a looking-glass every time he turned his head. The fact is, that it was a pair of gold spectacles, and as none of Johnny’s family wore spectacles, the minister’s face astonished him very much indeed, and he stared at him with all his eyes.
And now I shall have to tell you what Johnny did with his little fat fingers, when the kind minister took him tenderly in his arms, to christen him. You know I must tell the truth. He did not cry; he was not the least mite afraid, because the good minister smiled, and a baby knows very well what a kind smile means; he just put up those little fat fingers, and in a moment! he had twitched the spectacles off of the minister’s nose, and began to suck them.
The good minister smiled, and the people smiled, and Johnny laughed loud in church. He was such a little baby, you know, he did not know he must not laugh in church, and he was so delighted with his new play-thing, that the minister let him keep the spectacles, and as he put the water on his face, and gave him to God, Johnny did not cry; oh no! he smiled; and all the people in the church looked with loving eyes on the innocent child.
As the minister handed Johnny back to his mamma, he bent down his kind face and kissed him, and said: “I hope your dear little boy will live and be a comfort to you. I have a sweet little boy too, but he is not here. God is taking care of him for me.” Do you know what he meant? He meant, that his dear little boy was dead, and had gone to heaven to live with Jesus, the Son of God, who loves little children so dearly.
Johnny soon gave up the spectacles, when he caught sight of his dear old horse, with one leg and no tail; such a darling as that old thing was! and he showed his joy at getting him back, by sucking his head all the way home; once in a while trying to poke it into his nurse’s mouth to give her a taste.
The nurse had a straw hat on, and Johnny, in his desire to get at her mouth, pulled the hat as hard as he could, and tore it nearly in two pieces. He did not mean to, you know; but when he had done it he thought it a very funny caper, and laughed, and put his hand through the rent, and snatched the comb out of her hair, laughing all the time and jumping almost out of her arms. What a baby!
The poor nurse looked as if she had been in the wars; she did not get angry, she loved Johnny so much; she only held fast with one hand to her ragged old hat, and hurried home, laughing as hard as Johnny.
Let me tell you that the old horse and the baby had a fine supper that night, and went to bed hugging each other, that is, Johnny hugged the horse.
Soon his beautiful black eyes were closed in sleep, and his little fat fingers, that had done so much mischief without meaning any wrong, were resting quietly on his breast.
Those bright eyes and busy fingers wanted rest, don’t you think so? I do. So; good night, little Johnny.
Hop, hop, hop! In it came at the window, the dearest little yellow canary, not a bit afraid; chirping, turning its pretty head this way and that, and asking its little bird questions which nobody could understand.
George, and Winifred, and little Bruce were all filled with delight and amazement at the small visitor. Wise George flew to shut the window, kind Winny ran for cake, and solemn Bruce took his finger out of his mouth and stared.
Meanwhile Dicky sidled, and fluttered, and chattered, and at last showed he was used to society by setting down on George’s finger, winking at Bruce, and making a good meal of Winny’s cake.
“Do you think he can have flown straight from the Canary Islands?” asked Winny.
But George shook his head; it was too far.
But still they had a feeling that the little visitor was a sort of emigrant, who must be led to settle at Fairleigh Cottage; and Winny ran to ask her mother for the half-crown out of her money-box to buy him a cage.
“Mother’s coming,” she said. “She thinks Birdie belongs to some one else, because he is so tame.”
“But there are no canaries in the village, except the schoolmaster’s pair,” said wise George; “and this little beauty is not one of them. I really think this bird must have come to look for a home.”
