Daddy's Dodger Girl

Al has been taking forever to get to sleep lately, so after a long nursing, I passed her off to daddy to finish the night-night routine. But, a Dodgers game is on, and lo and behold, what do I see but daddy and little girl peeking out around the hallway at the end of an exciting inning. Al had been pretty drowsy, but all of a sudden she realized the game was on and jerked awake, alert to the crucial part of the inning. Daddy!!! It's a half an hour later now, and I hear her sputtering in our bedroom, wanting to watch the rest of the game. I should have just let them watch the game, instead of giving daddy the "are you kidding me?" look and shooing them back into the boring, dark bedroom while the Dodgers took the lead during the 6th.

I guess she's daddy's little Dodger girl. My fault for dressing her in the Dodgers shirt this afternoon.

Laughing takes work

A few minutes after Alison's first laugh, we recorded the following:



Clearly, it was just a one shot-deal, and the first of many times that we realized that while she always laughs in company, she never laughs at what we find funny. Later that day, we did manage to catch her at it, but only with quite a lot of effort on mama's part:



In fact, when we laugh, it tends to startle her into solemnity. So how exactly did she learn how to laugh???

A meets Daddy

Whither my girl?

My chatterbox seems to have gone into hiding. From when she was only a few weeks old, you could hold her head in your hands and coo back and forth with her for ages (ages = 15-20 min in baby-time). Early last week she began to increase the volume of her hiyas, gurgles, tongue-rolls, and ha-uuiuuhhhs, but she's gone strangely quiet of late.

It's hard not to ask myself if I did something wrong. Did I make her more passive by wearing her in the sling too much? Am I not playing enough or engaged enough with her? Am I letting her sleep too long because it's convenient for me? Did we shush her too much? ... I suspect these to be foolish questions driven by my perfectionism, not by her good.

Or is she just becoming more interested in observing the world and therefore splitting her time between quiet observation & playing with lips, palate, and tongue?

I don't know her well enough to say. She is my enigma as well as her own. We stare at each other: I, wondering who I'm seeing; she, wondering at her seeing, but perhaps not yet at me.

The Sea

It seems that sometimes, for her, existence is so overwhelming that it feels like a burden, and then she cries and cries, sputtering, choking, gasping for air like a drowning woman. And I lean over her, wanting to throw her my self as a lifeline, but perhaps offering her only more waves of the sea to buffet her little soul. She stares at me with incomprehension widening her eyes and grimacing her face. She is dry, recently sated with food, and not in physical pain, but she has been gripped by something outside of her control, let alone her understanding. To be held is her deepest desire; all else is the vast, heaving sea: my murmurs and little touches, my fingers stroking her forehead, my eyes locked woth hers, my arm cradling her body in the car seat, all wind and waves to her. But still I must buffet her with my presence, for I have nothing else to give. And since she has been given to me and I to her, I know that is enough to be faithful to the call that is also the gift. I cannot mend this plight, but it is not mine to mend. It is mine to bear with her, and hers to bear with me.