Almost Tuesdays with Sadie

Children grow up. This is a wonderful thing. One of s's new habits, a habit that apparently according to S she's developed because she's discovered that there are other entities in the world besides her, like she's undergoing this real psychological change in understanding what it means to be a human being, whereby, she actually recognizes S and I as other. The way this manifests itself is that she'll often smile at us and grab our face, which occasionally hurts but is mostly cute. And, equally adorably, she'll sometimes kind of pat you on the shoulder when you pick her up, both to reaffirm that you are indeed a solid separate entity and also because it makes you feel pretty damn good to have the little urchin patting you on the back. Note: I can't wait until I discover that other sentient beings exist besides myself. I think it's going to be a great step for me.

5:30 Why are you awake. Probably to punish me for something I did wrong while you were in the womb.

6:30 If I lie in bed long enough I'm sure she'll fall back asleep.

7:10 After forty raucous minutes of yelling at the ceiling she falls asleep.


10:00 I attempt to feed s some bananas mashed up with some oatmeal and a little milk. Why don't I just keep adding things until we actually violate Michael Pollan's threat of what real food is. Ie is rice cereal mixed with banana, oatmeal, milk, squash and carrots actually still a food? Or is it just disgusting? Anyhow, S has told me to make sure to mash up the banana properly. Naturally I start cutting it up and then have this amazing idea. I pick up the banana in my right hand and squeeze it tightly, watching its guts spread out in my palm and stick to my fingers. Then I sort of rub my hand more and wonder if there might not be a better way to cut up a banana. I add the oatmeal and milk. And yes, it looks a little lumpy, but it s starts choking I can save her.

s takes a brief bite of the banana and then starts crying. "That's how I feel about overripe bananas too kid," I tell her while shoveling another spoonful in between tears. Seconds later she dribbles about 97 percent out of what I've fed to her on her copious chins. And cries. After a few minutes of playing the dribbling game I decide that s just doesn't like bananas and that it's probably a good sign as bananas are notorious for being grown in questionable places. I assume she's taking a stand for worker's rights everywhere.

8:30-9:30-We walk by a daycare in the neighborhood that costs around my whole paycheck per month. The kids all look happy and gather round one of the teachers who is showing them the life cycle of a butterfly or something. I think she may have been a magician. If you have enough money you might not be able to buy your happiness as you're more complex, but you can certainly purchase your child's.

The day before, after church, when s was well overdue for a nap she lay her head down against my chest ever so gently and went to sleep. And yes, my heart melted. My little girl used to always sleep like that. Now it only happens with exhaustion. And even though I'm fairly certain that I tore my other labrum while holding her, I was pretty damn happy.

1-3
s takes the longest nap that she's ever taken for me. I have time to start reading a book, take a nap of my own, finish reading the book and then unload the dishwasher. Two hour naps are the greatest thing in the world because it allows you enough time to actually feel somewhat sane. I mean, it's sort of ironic that parents, who love their children, love them the most after two hour naps. Or maybe it's not so strange. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Today I was talking to our nanny about how s does this thing where she scoots around the floor. It's not quite crawling as she's not up on her knees, but she certainly moves. It's basically inefficient crawling. Anyhow, I'm relating to her that I'd left little s to get a bottle ready for her and then come back and found her slapping the wooden flooring around three feet away from where I'd left her. "She doesn't move around that much for me," our nanny replied. And that's when I realized that it was probably because our nanny didn't leave s alone for as long as I do, and I either felt like a bad parent or like a really good one. Listen, it doesn't bother me to find s sitting on the floor and inspecting the baskets on our book shelf. Hell, today I noticed after she'd been crawling around for a while on the floor that she makes a great mop. The whole front of her shirt was covered in dirt and lint. I'm not saying I let her eat it or anything. I'm just saying that her scooting makes mopping obsolete. And also, most parents must do this, once your kids start moving around a bit I'm guessing you get over that whole, they must be on a blanket and supervised at all times. I mean, she's seven months old, let her live a little.

Later in the day, while I'm using the computer I look down to find that s has crossed the room to start tugging on the cord at my feet. "That's cute honey," I tell her, pulling the cord away and tucking it behind the couch, "but you can't always have what you want. And maybe part of learning to be an adult is coming to grips with that reality." She started playing with my big toe. I'm thinking we really connected.