Elisa's been enjoying squealing a lot the last couple of days. It can get rather loud at times. I think she just likes hearing herself talk.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
I'm so sad that he's gone. Ever since I woke up this morning I have this uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. It's like a nervous queasy feeling. It's silly. I know that a lot of people are away from their spouses far longer than a week, but I'm not used to him being gone so long.
I'm also a little nervous about Elisa. I work three days while Greg is gone, and Elisa will have to be watched by someone else for about 5 hours each day. I haven't left her with anyone but Greg for that long before, and I'm kind of nervous about it. I know that she'll be in good hands, but I'm nervous about how she'll do. Will she drink out of her bottle well? Will she sleep okay? What if she cries the whole time? I guess it's normal for me to be nervous about this. I just have to remind myself that it's better that this is happening now, before she's at the age of separation anxiety.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Here she is with her friend Sydney. Sydney was born two weeks after Elisa and they're best friends :-)
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
She's very curious. In this picture she's checking out the flowers that are embroidered on her skirt.
She's getting good at grabbing things and wants to have everything in her mouth - including your face. Here she has the ribbon from my Mother's Day gift.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
The other day I was ricocheting slowly
off the blue walls of this room,
moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano,
from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,
when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary
where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard.
No cookie nibbled by a French novelist
could send one into the past more suddenly—
a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp
by a deep Adirondack lake
learning how to braid long thin plastic strips
into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.
I had never seen anyone use a lanyard
or wear one, if that’s what you did with them,
but that did not keep me from crossing
strand over strand again and again
until I had made a boxy
red and white lanyard for my mother.
She gave me life and milk from her breasts,
and I gave her a lanyard.
She nursed me in many a sick room,
lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,
laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,
and then led me out into the airy light
and taught me to walk and swim,
and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.
Here are thousands of meals, she said,
and here is clothing and a good education.
And here is your lanyard, I replied,
which I made with a little help from a counselor.
Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,
and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.
And here, I wish to say to her now,
is a smaller gift—not the worn truth
that you can never repay your mother,
but the rueful admission that when she took
the two-tone lanyard from my hand,
I was as sure as a boy could be
that this useless, worthless thing I wove
out of boredom would be enough to make us even.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
I thought that I wouldn't sleep as well for a couple nights, because I would be worried about her being so far away from us. But that hasn't been a problem at all.
Anyway, here's a video of her beautiful room. She loves it. And I like it too!