My daughter (just typing this has me all choked up) will soon be 4 months old, and she’s consistently breaking my heart. An eager explorer, she’s fascinated by all things, things we adults rarely give the time of day, recessed lighting, blankies, mobiles. She makes life simpler and more complex at the same time, and I wouldn’t know what to do without her.
Reese almost always greets me with a gurgling smile, her eyes wide and deep blue, limbs churning in Sikorskian rotation. She has a sweetness that could turn Pol Pot into a pacifist. Impossibly, she manages to make diaper changing a joy, her world-stopping grin nullifies the noxious event, that irresistible dimple revealed on her right cheek. Did I mention I wouldn’t know what to do without her?
Is this all parental sap? Not a chance, people. This is love.
Her innocence makes me question myself. What more could I be doing? Am I holding her enough? Am I giving her enough attention? She’s our 2nd child, and I know she’s not receiving the same level of attention as our 1st. We watched over Jack with an intensity rivaling Swiss Psychologist Jean Piaget, noting developmental milestones, anticipating sensorimotor victories. I even committed to documenting 52 weeks of Jack’s life, now a gripping newborn tale, clocking in at a whopping 41, 269 words. But, what do I have for Reese, what form of chronicle? Pretty soon we’ll start her 529 college savings plan, but even that’s not enough. If nothing else, we have to take more photos and home videos of her–Reese’s digital media legacy needs considerable attention.
I’ll end by doing more of that, capturing Reese during a time that will soon be history.