Week 19

Dear Zayde,

This week I learned about defeat.  And more about the feet.

It's April, but we're in the midst of something called "March Madness," which I've deduced has to do with pride, anguish, and a bunch of tall guys running back and forth with an orange ball, which no one seems to want because they keep throwing it to other people and even way up into the air.  They almost get rid of if by tossing it into baskets, but someone forgot to put bottoms on those baskets, so the ball keeps falling out.  Grown ups are so silly.  Daddy has been particularly enthralled with the success of one group of tall guys who wear orange.  He was very excited about what these young men were going to do on Saturday night.  As you know, I tend to fall asleep around 9:30 p.m., so I wasn't able to stay awake long enough to find out what happened with the guys in orange.  This morning, Mommy lifted me from my crib as usual, changed my outrageously heavy diaper, and fed me my first breakfast, just like she always does (because Mommy is wonderfully predictable, even when she's half asleep).  After breakfast, we went into my parents' bedroom to wake up Daddy.  Just one look at his crestfallen face told me what must have happened last night.  I told him that there's always next year for another chance at glory, but (as usual) no one seemed to understand my vocalizations as anything but adorable squeaks and gibberish.  Today I shall be extra adorable to make Daddy forget all about his alma mater's heartbreaking loss.

And now onto the feet.  Weeks ago, I discovered that attached to the ends of my legs are the most entertaining body parts known as "feet."  For a few days, I grabbed at them every chance I got.  Then I forgot about them.  I had other things on my mind, like how I was going to get both my fists into my mouth simultaneously without making myself spit up.  (I haven't conquered that hurdle yet, but extensive research has yielded some interesting leads.)  This week, I looked down and remembered my little friends.  Once again, I am happily holding them while lounging on the changing table, playing on my mat, or sitting up in my bumbo chair.  That's not the only thing I can do with my feet, though.  This week I learned that my feet can be stretched downward to touch the ground.  When Mommy first put me in my command center (known to the outside world as an exersaucer), I could only dangle.  Now when she lets me play - by which I mean work in a concentrated manner - I am able to touch my toes to the ground, which allows me to bounce in my seat.  Bouncing, by the way, is tremendously fun.  I'll write more about that another week.

A few days ago I learned about thunderstorms.  I already knew about rain, which makes me wet like a bath but falls from the sky instead of pooling around my tushie.  Mommy has taken me for a few walks in rain that fell lightly and didn't get me soaked because my high-tech stroller has a plastic rain guard attachment.  This week, however, the rain made us miss one of our daily walks.  It fell so hard that it sounded like a thousand tubs were being filled on our roof.  Mommy and I sat by the window and watched the rain fall into the pool, making ripples and then waves when the wind began to shake the trees.  Grandma called to make sure we weren't outside because there were tornados in the area, which are apparently dangerous and to be avoided, like ceiling fans and plastic pieces small enough to swallow.  We stayed inside that day, and I learned that Mommies can catch a disease called "cabin fever," which makes them antsy and desperate to get-up-and-go.  As soon as the clouds parted the next day, Mommy practically threw me into my stroller, and we were out the door for a walk so long that I must have seen every tree in town.  After the rain, the grass and leaves seemed greener, and there was a fresh smell of spring.  I hope it rains again and again.

Your sunshine,
Zelda