Wet

Our house is a five-minute walk to the city pool. Today we bought a season pass.






In this last picture, she is in fact falling asleep in the water. It must have brought back drowsy, amniotic memories.

Push

Lyla is rolling purposefully now. Show her an interesting toy and put it out of reach, and she'll usually find a way to get to it. There's a lot of grunting and occasionally farting, and she doesn't always take a direct path, but she gets there.

I like to watch her struggle. I even like it when she gets frustrated as long as the frustration doesn't become anguish. I think about students I've known who don't persevere at much of anything, and then I think about the toy that's four inches away from Lyla's hand, her arm stretched to the max. I could so easily give it to her.

But no. If our life continues on its current path, Lyla might not have many real struggles. We certainly don't want her to get used to having things handed to her. And I guess there's no better time to start than now, with that plastic turtle whose head is so fun to suckle. Just a little closer, Lyla. Push it! But watch out for the TV stand.

Today

Lyla's hair was all kinds of crazy today.

This morning I left Lyla with my sister and attended my school's last workshop before summer. It always consists of a breakfast, a meeting where the principal honors retirees and reflects on the year, and a couple hours to clean desks, inventory textbooks, and finalize grades. It can be a tedious morning and I didn't have to go, but I went anyway.

It's tradition; I've been at the place for eight years. And like Holden Caulfield in Catcher in the Rye, I wanted to "get a goodbye." Even though I haven't taught since early March, it wouldn't feel like summer without that morning workshop to give closure.

My parenting leave is technically over, so now I'm just a teacher on summer break. Lyla starts swimming lessons a week from Monday, we're taking her on her first vacation in July, and by August she might be close to walking.

And then comes September, when this stay-at-home life will end for me--for Lyla, too. One thing's for sure: when you have a baby, looking forward to anything is a mistake. Maybe nostalgia is, too. For now, instead of anticipating things to come, and instead of looking back, I'll mention once more that today Lyla's hair was ridiculous and hilarious and beautiful.

Responding

Whimpers and whines on the baby monitor even a month ago always concerned us. Is she crying? Not really. Well, kind of. Do you want to check on her? Let's both go.

Now it's more like, yeah she's practically asleep.

We're better able to navigate her cries, and we know that some should be left alone. The halfhearted, tired-in-the-crib cry, for instance, is not one you want to walk in on. Whereas before we could rub her head a little and take her from tired to sleeping, now the moment we enter the room the tired cry becomes the murderous shriek. Leave her alone, though, and she'll usually just put herself to sleep.

But she's still a baby. Last night Lyla went from zero to wailing banshee the second she touched the mattress. I picked her up and rocked her to sleep before putting her down again as gently as possible. Then I went downstairs to the sound of my daughter screaming baby profanities at me. Five minutes, I told myself, setting the microwave timer.

She was fast asleep in four. Odd creature.

Morning

Occasionally I drive Julie to work. It's like a mini date, and then I listen to Minnesota Public Radio on the way home. Hard core, right? I'm quite the thrill seeker.

Usually Lyla is awake in time to leave, but this morning I snapped the above photo before waking her up. Julie was against the idea, said let the child sleep and that she would just drive herself. But I don't like it when dates get canceled, even mini ones.

Lyla was cute when I picked her up, all twisty and squinty. Then she started chattering during her diaper change and continued as I strapped her into her car seat. On the road, Julie and I sat contentedly and talked about nothing in particular the way married couples do sometimes. After I dropped Julie off, Lyla fussed for awhile before the car's hum on the road lulled her.

Back home, Lyla had a bottle and a long nap. I drank coffee and ate cereal. It was a good morning.

Wave

This is my 200th consecutive day of posting on this blog, so I'm glad I have something amazing to write about. I've solved the mystery of where waving comes from.

Lyla started waving at us the other day. Specifically, she raised her arm and opened and closed her hand. We did it back, and now it's a game. We're not sure she's aware it's a game, but that's okay.

But see, I recognize what she's doing. A baby has an instinct early on to help with her mother's milk production. With her tiny hand, the baby massages the breast as if to say, "You can do it!" It's the baby equivalent of a football game ass slap.

Lyla's hand movement during the wave was identical to her boob rubbing technique. Therefore, Lyla wasn't waving at all. She was thinking about milk. Not realizing this, we simply mimicked her movement, and a new way to communicate was born.

It has occurred to me that I might be full of crap. I hope not, though, because I like the idea of the wave coming from parents and babies who aren't on the same wavelength.

Teamwork

Whenever Lyla is in the highchair, Daisy saunters over and positions her face within Lyla's reach. Lyla obliges every time, reaching her hand down to be licked clean by Daisy's tongue.



Did I say licked clean? I don't know if that's necessarily true. Yes, they say that a dog's mouth is cleaner than a human's, but I highly doubt they were talking about Daisy.

Incredibly, Julie encourages this interaction. When Daisy starts licking, Julie says, "Daisy, baby. Good girl!" Apparently "baby" will be Daisy's command to go lick off whatever mess Lyla's made on herself.

When Lyla reclaims her hand, she immediately shoves it into her mouth. Just by typing that, I feel like I should go brush my teeth.