Sunday, May 23, 2010

Quiet Nothings

I'm up early today - Zoe awoke at 5:30 or so, and though she went right back to sleep, I'm not quite so lucky. I see her little body-bump beneath the blankets, identified by the ponytail sticking out the top. Her ponytail is getting long enough, at last, that it curls over rather than sticking straight up, sprig-like. My little girl changes every day, and I panic slightly thinking that her first birthday looms large, so soon...

Zoe loves grocery shopping. I can't imagine why. Just because virtually every person who passes us coos and giggles and tells her how darling she and her ponytail are and tell me that she is the cutest little thing they ever did see (I readily agree.) Random grandma and grandpas immediately adopt her as their own. Last week a little five year old boy went running behind us, shouting to his dad, "LOOK AT THAT CUTE BABY, SHE IS THE CUTEST BABY IN THE WHOLE WORLD!" In return, Zoe plays the part. Yesterday an older couple walked up to me in the parking lot and started going gaga over her. "We just had to say hello!" Turns out while I was loading groceries in the trunk, Zoe was cheerily waving to every car and person that passed us--like the queen of the parade on her float, gracing the masses with her perfection.

Zoe climbs stairs. She made it up both flights the first time. She stands on her own. She waves her hands wildly in the air shouting when she wants "MORE!" She knows if she puts her hand on the laptop touch-pad she can get drive Mom batty. Mom and Dad are no longer allowed to feed her, she can do it herself--get that spoon away from me. She talks constantly. When we attend playgroup, Zoe swiftly crawls off, disappearing into the toys in the midst of the big kids, zealously keeping up with them in their games. I peek in occasionally to see her toothless (well, 2-toothed) old granny grin peep over the side of a toybox, or little rump poke out from beneath a chair.

Zoe hates being left out. If Jed's helping me make dinner, she emphatically insists on being included. Jed doesn't much like sharing his stool at the counter, but Zoe's glowing face makes it hard to say no. When I set her down on the floor during a hot or tricky moment, she collapses, head on the floor, sobbing in abject sorrow that I have left her oh. so. alone. But only for a moment and then she's up standing, clinging to my legs, demanding to be allowed back in on the action.

Jed adores his sister, wrapped in her spell just like the rest of the world but with even greater passion. He loves having a playmate at last. Earlier this week, as I folded towels in the bedroom, I realized with a start that I hadn't seen or heard Zoe in... 45 minutes? An hour? I rushed into the living room. "Jed, have you seen Zoe?" Jed looked up with a grin. "She's right here, mom!" Zoe crawled out, cooing, with my black half slip draped across her shoulders and an Easter basket hanging off her head. "Look, Mom, she's in her clown dress and her clown hat!" They looked at each other and giggled, then disappeared behind the couch, whispering in an unintelligible tongue.

I love to see my children love one another.

1 comment:

Rachael said...

So adorable. You make motherhood sound like it is the best thing in the whole wide world...I wish I had some parents who realized how lucky they are to have their kid in their life, since that's all they'll have in the next.