Week 43

Dear Zayde,

This week I learned that I can make it almost a whole week without pooping. It was exciting to see how long I could hold out, but in the end, I must admit that the anticipation was far more rewarding than the final output.

I learned that in a few months, I am going to attend an Indian wedding. Kanchan went to India and brought back dresses for Mommy and me. She's still working on Daddy's outfit. Apparently he is very large for Indian standards. I learned that Indian clothes are brightly colored and adorned with sequins, rhinestones, dangling baubles, and other things I would love to eat. I can't wait to try on my new dresses. Mommy tried on hers, and she looked like a princess. I imagine that an entire room full of people dressed like that will provide never-ending sensory stimulation. 

This week I learned that Mommy can work outside our house. She takes pencils and notebooks and flashcards and drives to the homes of other children, where they do fun things like algebra and geometry. While she's gone, I stay at home with Grandma, who teaches me the lyrics to all those ancient songs. One of them tells of a long-ago time when there were eight days in a week. Another retells the myth of the great balls of fire that tormented primitive tribes. I'm learning so much with Grandma!

I learned that Daddy's office moved to a place he calls "my ammy." I don't know what an ammy is, and I'm not sure if we all have ammies somewhere or if these are places reserved for daddies. Do you have an ammy? Does Bubbi? Daddy says there's a lot of traffic on the way to his ammy, so it must be a popular place to visit. He will now spend his days on the 43rd floor of a building. We only have one floor in our house, and I love crawling all over it. Just imagine what fun I could have with 43 of them!

I'm watching Mommy put things in suitcases again. Someone is going somewhere. I hope this trip involves all of us. I'll keep you posted.

Hoping I have my very own ammy someday,

Zelda

Week 42

Dear Zayde,


This week I learned that Mommy makes the most amazing noise when I place her finger in my mouth and close my jaw. I think it has something to do with my new teeth. Maybe teething was worth it after all.

This week I learned that Grandma has "retired." From what I have gathered, this means that she comes to our house most days and crawls around the floor with me until we are both tired again, making us "re-tired." That's when I start to rub my eyes as a signal that it's time to take a break and do some relaxing and dosing in the rocking chair. Grandma is always happy to oblige by humming ancient songs that date all the way back to the 1960s.

This week I learned that Savtah doesn't trust me around her earrings. Apparently I almost ate one of her more dangly baubles, and now she doesn't even bother wearing them when I see her. I swear I wasn't going to eat that earring. I just wanted to get a better look (taste).

This week I learned that Daddy will, if offered, eat the food right out of my hand. I attempted to be polite one evening during dinner and held out my piece of beef because I know he is also a fan of slow-cooked stews. I thought he would decline because he had plenty to eat on his own plate, but that's when I learned that no good deed goes unpunished. Little did I know that my usually generous father would open wide and take a bite. I was aghast! In protest, I threw some carrots on the floor and smashed a few peas. Since then, I've offered Grandma and Mommy a bite of my meals to see if they are similarly greedy, and it turns out that I am surrounded by rapacious family members eager to eat me out of high chair and home. I know you wouldn't do such a thing to a poor, starving baby, despite what Mommy says about your penchant for french fries.


Chomp, chomp, chomp,
Zelda

Week 41

Dear Zayde,


I was in denial last week, but this week I must admit that I have finally learned the answer to the question adults have been asking me for five months.Where are my teeth?

THEY ARE IN MY MOUTH.

I have also learned that teeth are insidious monsters hell-bent on causing misery. The throbbing in my lower jaw made me rub my face, gnaw on anything I could get into my mouth, and whine incessantly. (Mommy had previously thought that whining was a learned behavior but now understands that it must be an inherent trait considering that she is certain I've never heard anyone else whine.) After the tooth broke through my aching gums, I thought the ordeal was over, but a few days later, the entire process repeated, and a second tooth, adjacent to the first, reared its ugly head. Just thinking about the last week of oral atrocities makes me cranky, especially now that I've made a note of how many teeth are in other people's mouths. (I have been checking carefully. While Mommy is feeding me, I poke my fingers into her mouth and tap at her teeth with my fingernails. When Daddy was playing with me on the floor and lifting me above his head, I waited until he opened his mouth and then shoved my entire hand in there. I probably could have fit both hands inside, but that just seemed silly.) The results of my hands-on research indicate that I have just begun what is sure to be a long and painful journey toward a full set of teeth.

Compared to experiencing this gum-ravaging anguish, getting my blood drawn at the lab was not so bad. Sure, I yelled, but that was mostly because I'd been kept waiting in a warm waiting room populated by people who smelled as though their mommies weren't as vigilant as mine about changing diapers in a timely manner. I wasn't thrilled about being held in Mommy's lap and having my arm stretched out, either. I am a free-range baby and prefer to control my own limbs, thank you very much. Despite my loud protests, I did learn that my blood is red and can escape from me in a long thin tube. I have no idea how much blood is inside me, but I didn't feel any different after the nurses removed two vials worth, so I will conclude that I have a lot more safely stored away for whatever use I might find in the future. I will also add to my previous weeks' commentary about the sadistic nature of nurses: even the ones that don't poke you in the leg will end up poking you somewhere else, such as the arm or heel. I still have yet to meet a nurse who didn't want to jab me with something sharp.

On a much more joyous note, this week I learned that our family celebrates Rosh Hashanah. L'shanah tovah! At Savtah's house, I watched Mommy light candles, heard some adults singing, and enjoyed my meal with a dozen people who were engaged in multiple simultaneous conversations in three languages. It was a good thing that Mommy brought me some food in little plastic containers because no one else would share. I saw people eating apples, which you know are a favorite of mine, but they smeared them with a golden gooey substance that Mommy was adamant was "not for babies." I'm learning that this phrase pops up quite often. The kitchen is "not for babies." Daddy's special juice is "not for babies." Is there some sort of government agency decreeing these unfair rules? I am compiling a list of things that are "not for babies" and will attempt to find a common thread to better understand this apparent injustice. Meanwhile, I have yet to hear anyone say that something is "not for grown-ups."

I need to end this week's letter here so that I can practice a few more sleep-evading tactics. Every day is another opportunity to prove that I can stay awake. I feel the fatigue set in; I rub my eyes and yawn, but I refuse to give up so easily. There's always one more book to pull off the shelf, one more ball to roll across the floor, one more piece of furniture that I can use to stand up and steady myself. Those foolish adults think that they can out last me, but I know I can keep going. I might lose a few battles, but in the end, victory will be mine.


Plotting and cutting,
Zelda

Week 40

Dear Zayde,


This week I learned to never stop moving. From the moment I wake up, I start to crawl, pull up, stand, sit down, pivot, and roll. I don't stop moving until I fall asleep. Even when I'm eating, I move. If I'm in my high chair, I swing my legs. If Mommy is trying to feed me, I pinch, tug, smack, and wiggle. Truth be told, even when I'm sleeping, I'm moving. I roll onto my stomach, scrunch up my legs, and spread out my arms. Then I'm on my back, flailing my legs so they make smacking noises on the mattress loud enough to wake up Mommy. As I get better at crawling, I've found that sticking my tushy way up into the air and hanging my head down allows me to see the world from a new and exciting perspective. People's faces look so silly with their chins on top. I have learned to crawl all over the house, but my favorite places are the ones that are technically "off limits," like the mat by the front door where my parents keep their oh-so-temping shoes. Every time I get close enough to grab a shoe, someone comes swooping in and carries me back to my play mat. One day, I got all the way to the shoes and picked one up. It was a flip flop and smelled like the ocean and our driveway. I almost had it in my mouth when Mommy yelled "NO!" (whatever that means) and yanked it from my hand. I don't understand why she won't let me taste the shoes. Whatever is on them can't be any worse than the random fuzz I get on my hands from crawling around the house.

Speaking of hands, this week I've stepped up my game and learned to wave hello and good-bye. Certain grown ups swear that they've heard me say "bye bye" while waving good-bye, but they seem to forget that I'm only making six consonant sounds (ba, ga, ma, wa, ya, da), so it's more likely a coincidence that I chose to say buh-buh while I waved than a conscious act. Either that, or I am a genius baby and will soon learn to reprogram the DVR.

And yes, you read that correctly: I've learned to say da-da.  Daddy seems the most excited about this new skill, but he's also excited when my diaper holds all my poop, so he's an easy audience.

This week I learned that Daddy has an annual ritual called a "fantasty football draft" that involves staring at his computer and looking dismayed. As his good luck charm, I was allowed to push the button on his laptop during the most important round, the one in which he added a kicker. As you know, kicking is a specialty of mine; I've been doing it since my early days in utero, and I continue to practice on a daily basis. Thanks to the football draft, Daddy brought home a special treat from a local restaurant, and that's how I learned that I love BBQ. Mommy wouldn't let me have any of the sweet-smelling sauce that Daddy used to drown his food, but I didn't mind. Gnawing on pieces of roasted turkey and beef was an exploration in sensory overload. If we get to eat that stuff every time Daddy watches football, I will be a huge fan.

40 weeks in, 40 weeks out,

Zelda