It seems fitting while ruminating on baby’s first Thanksgiving to mention how amazed I am. A Mom. At last.
We drove back home this afternoon and she was sort of fussing in the back seat because 90 minutes is a much larger percentage of her life than it is mine, and I’m tired of the haul through Black Friday traffic too. So she’s sort of whining, and rubbing the top of her head with my occasionally free hand isn’t doing it for her anymore, so I start blowing raspberries loudly, for lack of anything else to do. And in between her protests she’s trying to blow raspberries too. This child is not quite 4 months old and can’t see what I’m doing and is peeved besides, but she’s doing her level best to imitate that silly flapping lip sound as we make our way through the last stretch northward.
So there’s this wonderful presence in my house every day now and while the cats are suffering mightily for my unapologetic lack of interest in them, the babe is flourishing and chortling and being vehemently wonderful pretty much 100% of the time.
Some 17 people were assembled at my uncle’s house for Thanksgiving this year and it occurred to me at some point, as my child was being passed around, hand to hand, that every now and then I’d look over at her and she’d lock eyes with me. Unflinching and No Two Ways About It. I’ve known some great babies in the past, but none of them sought me out across a crowded room like this. And when she got tired of people or her diaper was full or she needed another mouthful of boob, it was me she was after. That’s very cool. Still feeling pretty novel that after all that great lovin from all sides, she wants to cuddle up with me. Not a day goes by that I don’t relish the deep yummy satisfying wonderfulness of this life with my sweet girl in it.