Thursday, April 21, 2011

Isn't it Divine?

Written April 19

Tonight, I watched Baby Girl play with the tags on her floor mat for a long time.  I have no idea why she loves them, but she does.  She loves them almost as much as she loved the digital clock in the bedroom.  For a while, every time she saw those bright red digits, she would grin and squeal like it was a long-lost friend that must have been a hilarious chap. 

I studied her as she studied the plain white, soggy tags.  She grabbed them, flipping through each one, making sure that none went untouched or unmouthed.  Her brow kept furrowing, trying to make sense of the texture and the taste. I watched as a hiccup produced a little bit of orange drool, no doubt the carrots from supper, and then as it dropped onto the shag rug, otherwise known as the new hangout of all things wet and pureed.  

Every day, she commands her fingers to work in her favor and is becoming a more and more successful dictator.

Every day, she refines and adds to her facial expression repertoire.  There are now points on the line between gleeful and extreme dissatisfaction.  She can pout her lower lip in such a way that makes her mama (and daddy) laugh and feel bad at the same time.  She can embody contemplative.  The feeling and taste of carrots in her mouth versus that of peas produce wildly different responses.   

She is a source of anxiety:  why do people keep having babies?  It's so hard to let loose something that you love so much.  I've never looked at a school bus and had a strong sense of angst before. 

She is a source of tranquility:  her face is an instant balm for the soul.

I want to take her places, teach her things, and watch her take it all in.  All the while, I want to swaddle her next to me, keeping her close and safe.

I want to see her now as she will be in the future--walking, talking, interacting with everything and everyone around her.  Yet, I want to preserve her as she is now, never forgetting her current looks and sounds. 

There is so much for this precious being to be offered by the world.  But, my goodness, to ignore the immense amount of change and knowledge she has already acquired would be tragic.

Life, what other caverns are you hiding?  I have become a more conscious explorer as she is her own pioneer.  I eagerly await the day's opportunities, hopefully, if I do not fall into dull distraction, to discover new seas, new tastes, and new awakenings.

Isn't it something to become as a child again?  Being able to see the world through new eyes, gaining the perspective of a babe, and to know what we already know--isn't this rebirth and reincarnation at their best?