Let Us Speak of the Wee One

If you ask, “Want to go for a walk?” she grins and grabs your hands, pulls herself up and then takes off. She has two teeth, soon to be joined (judging by the whinging, as my Scottish friend Liz calls it) by a third. She is eating beans, and graham crackers, and pizza crusts. She is a mighty fan of pears, and bangs her fat, sticky fists on the high chair tray when she sees me pull them out of the fridge.

Her favorite person is her Biggie, the only one who can stop the whinging simply by showing her face and occasionally singing “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.” The Biggie is my hero for this reason. If only we could find a magic way to stop HER whinging. Then I could happily put my feet up and sip iced mochas while they amused one another all day long.

The wee one especially enjoys eating Things Off the Floor, a rare delicacy never enjoyed by the older one in her own infancy. I will pick her up and she will be chewing, chewing, chewing. I stick my finger in her cheek and pull out...a petrified rice puff, a candy wrapper, a purple foil star from the Biggie’s fairy crown. I would feel bad, if I did not know that this was the fate of the Second--to be less doted upon, perhaps, but also less restricted, allowed to explore without an anxious mama wringing her hands at her every move.

The obnoxious but clever cat has figured out how to get me to let her out at 4 am. She simply lies on top of the wee one, purring her 18-wheeler purr, and starts licking the sweaty, salty baby head. Kitty is out the door in sixty seconds. She redeems herself later by dangling her tail in the wee one’s face and letting her pull on her ears. They will be friends, I think.

And that is all, for now.