Wednesdays with Sadie is not as pithy without the not so historical antecedent

She's starting to develop slight rolls of fat at her wrists that threaten to engulf her hands. Small rolls lie just above her calves and reappear just above the curve of her knee. Her skin is like peaches and cream. At her current height of 27 inches we know she'll at least be four and a half feet tall according to that old legend about doubling the height of a two year old. Lately she has become more mobile, which entails planting her left elbow on the ground and using at as a pivot point for the rest of her body, swinging herself around as if she were a screw being tightened. She has a habit of turning counterclockwise.

She stands, or approximates standing, my hands hover an inch or so from her sides, against the side of our couch, which she occasionally leans forward to nibble on, leaving a small wet streak when she turns to smile at me. A blue bag full of toys rests on the couch within her grasp and she sets about yanking it toward her as if she were climbing a rope. She sits back on my knees as her two hands grip the bag and pull. Honestly, not much is accomplished on each individual pull, but after pulling eight times or so the bag is nearly at mouth level. It is at this point that she gets distracted and begins chewing on the bag's handles. Moments later she will begin staring at our carpet, whose main distinction is gathering dust balls, for a minute or so.


It is tempting to imagine in moments such as these that your child is uniquely special. I don't mean here that you're child is special to you. I mean rather that your child is probably the first six and half month child to stand with such alacrity and pull on a bag. It is tempting to believe when you say to your child, "how are you the cutest thing in the whole world?" That in fact, your child is the cutest thing in the whole world. It is tempting to think that her inquisitive spirit is just the first sign of a vast intellect that will one day rival that of Netwon, even if she is just admiring dust bunnies.

One of the chief temptations of being a parent is to extol the virtues of one's child to others. This arises, I can now see, not out of an inconsiderateness to the interests of others, but rather, out of extreme considerateness. You are witnessing on a daily basis the growth and improvement of probably the most beautiful little human being that God has chanced to put on the earth. To not share your child's virtues would be, almost by definition, cruel. It is this lie that parent's tell themselves that must be resisted if they are not to become those sorts of people. The baby people. The people who will tell you the exact size and shape of every food item their child has consumed in the last three plus days and the consequent signs of improvement and general genius that the consumption presages. It is difficult.

Of course, it's not technically a lie. A parent's child, banal and statistically improbable though it may be, is in fact the cutest and most perfect little human being in the world sans Christ. The key of course is good old subjectivity. Nobody wants to consider their child objectively in relation to other kids because they will not quite come out on top, or if they do it is mainly to confirm to themselves that they are not the sort of parents who think their child is perfect, even though deep down they do actually believe it to be true. So, I suppose the point here is, when I look at s's chubby legs, almost freestanding, at her hands grasping the couch, and her little nose buried in it as she gnaws contentedly, it is fair to say that she is the cutest and smartest little human being put on earth. Remember, reasonable minds can differ.