Monday, March 11, 2013


"Time, time," the three mice sighed, "Is what we hadn't before we died."

I used to think I was going to be a writer, for instance, which isn't happening. I used to think I was going to be a veterinarian/naturopath/herbalist/decathlete/diplomat, back when you could sink a small island under the weight of my ambitions and I had little else but time. I used to think that adulthood would be a lot more linear than childhood (oh, my dear). I used to think I'd have a handle on more than one language by now, when all I have left are a few garbled remnants, slowly off-gassing and disintegrating in the wasteland of my 'school' brain. I used to hope I'd grow up to be like Auntie Mame. Scratch that, I still do. I used to think that a decade was a lifetime, an eon, which it is but not at all in the way that I thought.


The point is that there fortunately isn't nearly as much time for thinking (or really doing) when practically all you do is watch someone grow into a person. This stuff blows my mind. Now, when I can spare a brain cell, I think that I want to be a neuroscientist because, obviously. Brains are amazing. Especially when they are new.


Nine months-iversary is a big milestone. It's the other half of her life, the one that she has spent outside in the world. She is far closer to toddlerhood than babydom, and is learning that the world is here for her to make a mark in, she is no longer just an observer. She moves in it, asks of it, demands and seeks and explores and makes things happen. She is discovering the delights of language and the unpleasant shock of frustrated desires. The things on my plate are always better tasting, up is better than down except when it is not. She is so curious, and quite independent, she entertains herself around the house until hunger or fatigue reel her back in. She loves to set forth on expeditions through the rooms to find people, you can hear her lopsided galloping approach down the hallway or around the corner and it is such a giddy and joyous sound. She stood up on her own for the first time last week, it was a heady experience.

She is hilarious, and has started to do things just because she thinks they will be funny, which is funny in itself. Her favorite game goes like this: Someone says "HAH-da" and then the other person says "Hah-da" and then the first person says it again and so on. Trust me, it's better than it sounds. Peekaboo is also always a really good time. She got lost a bit in my ghetto light reflector for our shoot today (drat these dark, dark days), it was a peekaboo that she really had to fight for. But it was so worth it:

peekaboo mosaic

She growls when she drinks water. She used to roar, but that was a bit much at the table so I demonstrated what a satisfying but subdued "Ahh" looks like after a sip, and she eagerly took up the trick. Only her version, as my mom pointed out, sounds more like something from The Exorcist, a vaguely sinister and breathy rattle that could almost be a purr if your cat was actually a monster hiding under your bed. Adorable, in other words. Tiny monsters are just so flippin' cute.


There are a hundred other things that I could say about her, but I won't bother, there will only be a hundred new things tomorrow and I'd better get some shuteye so I can be ready for them. Take care of your time, my friends, it so easily gets away from you.


  1. I love your way with words; what a beautiful post! And a beautiful little girl. (Not a baby any more.)

    So you are, indeed, a writer. And a fabulous photographer.

    I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up!

    1. Thank you, Michele! Well, fortunately there's no ledge over which is Grown-Up Land that we fall off if we don't have all the answers.