October 20, 2009

Since last I wrote...

1. Daddy lays you down the length of his knees and cups the back of your head in his left palm. With the right hand he teases the nipple of a bottle over your lips. You shake your head side to side and fuss. Finally, you take it. A white washcloth hangs over the wooden arm of the IKEA chair for Daddy to use after you drink too fast and the milk spills down the sides of your cheeks. I am upstairs sitting on the floor of our bedroom, trying to watch television, Luxy curled between my legs. But really I am listening to your sounds and gurgles below, trying to figure out if you are taking the bottle. Finally I go and lean over the ledge at the top of the stairs. I hear Daddy singing his invented songs to you. Later, when he sings "You are a pooping machine," you cannot stop smiling.

2. At the Ole Cafe, Martha leans back against the couch and you lean against her, your head snuggled just below her chin. She strokes your bundled body and talks about the possibility of working for the Marty campaign, of what it's like to sit at the LVC informational table while students walk by and walk by, of saying finally, to her mother, "if I want your advice I will ask for it." On the table, her cup of chai grows cold. Outside, sunshine and a mess of leaves.

3.In a re-used yellow envelope we receive a blue baby "Holden Village" hat from John and Anna. With it, a letter typewritten on blue Holden stationary: "hold this letter up in front of Thisbe and explain that she has an uncle who lives in a mountain village who loves her very much."

4. A picture of you, smiling, in your "Little Punpkin" fleece sleeper. I make copies and buy plastic picture frames and write "Happy Halloween! Love, the littlest pumpkin" on the front with a black Sharpie marker.

5. You go to bed between 8 and 9. Then wake at 12 or 1 and again at 5 or 6. You are alert for good by 8:30 or 9. I am glad for the sleep. All the books say that at night the parents are supposed to resist talking to the child, are supposed to keep the lights off, are supposed to act like uninteresting versions of their daytime selves. Sometimes I am good at this. But for some reason I think you look most beautiful in the lamplight. Your blue eyes take over your face, two blue planets frozen in orbit but animated with the potential for motion. And when you smile, oh Thisbe when you smile at 5am, then the rest of the world goes away and there is a plain white thread of joy between us.