Buh

We spent the last two days at Great Grandma Judy's house. The exersaucer rode in the back of the station wagon next to Luxy and only rolled onto her once. When we arrived, I took you out of the car seat and handed you to Judy and she looked at you with such love, her face warbled with wrinkles, and said, "I could just cry," and even as she said it the cry was there, wedged deep in the back of her throat.

We have been touring houses, Thisbe, trying to find one to make into a home. Four days ago we almost made an offer on one. It did not feel like a home when we walked through it. There were cake platters and packages of Ramen in the basement, a Bible with verses highlighted in blue on the dining room table, a three foot tall stuffed giraffe and safari print wallpaper in the bedroom. It felt so very much like someone else's home.

At Judy's house, everything was new to you and so new to me as well: blown glass birds on the windowsills, rosemaled dressers and plates and window shutters, photos tucked into the corners of mirrors and stuck to the fronts of cabinets, a white ceramic vase with stale candy corn and peanuts, a recliner with a grinding motor, a wicker basket with reading materials (The Lutheran, Health, finished crossword puzzles, church bulletins).

Your home is your world right now, dear Thisbe. How much of our detritus, our artwork, our stacks of papers or our tablecloths affects your consciousness? I think about whether surrounding you with cherry will make you feel differently than cheap fiberboard. Real door versus hollow doors; medicinal carpet versus stain-resistant softness; a view of a pond versus a view of a paved parking lot. Will the quality of the things you are surrounded by affect your own sense of worth?

Meanwhile, you have discovered how to make the "b" sound. Up until now your sounds have all begun in the back of the throat--"guhs" and "cuhs" and vowel sounds and shrieks. In the last few days, you discovered your lips. Most beautiful is when I make the "buh" sound and I see that you have forgotten how to imitate it...but then slowly you work your mouth around into smaller and smaller corkscrews until your lips come fully together and then you press a tiny burst of air and bubbles through them: "buh!" You smile then, so proud of your new accomplishment.

Also: If we hold your hands you take the tiniest of steps forward. You like to be upright at all times. Tummy time is for losers, apparently.

In other news: You still have yet to get into the whole rolling thing. You will babble for twenty minutes straight (said Judy today "I have never seen a child of that age go on for so LONG!") but you have yet to take initiative when it comes to physical positioning.

However: You have learned to arch your back and to twist your head upward while laying on the ground...a move which could eventually result in rolling. Or, a seizure.

We ate hamburgers for lunch today at Badger Crossing, the only real restaurant in Cashton. A woman watched, through her owl rimmed glasses, as Daddy balanced you on the table top. As we walked passed her on the way out of the restaurant, she grabbed Judy's forearm: "Is that your granddaughter? She is the most beautiful baby I have ever seen." And you father and I beamed with pride. As though we'd finally mastered the "buh" sound.