On Thursdays I go into work late, which means Beatrice and I get to sneak in a little exclusive time together between the bus stop drop-off and her nap time. Without anyone else vying for my attention, and with a specific end to our interlude in sight (when she starts rubbing her eyes), I get kind of swoony and gaga and start thinking she is the best most sweetest most outrageously adorable baby in the world and cannot resist taking pictures of her, to document this absolutely perfect developmental moment.
Of course the moment will also be perfect next Thursday, and the Thursday after that.
(An aside: my grad school friend Patrice was the only person in the world I knew who had a baby when Frances was born. She told me, when I was pregnant, that my baby would be the best baby in the world. But I should also keep in mind that every other person's baby is also the best baby in the world. It's an approach that still works for me - it recognizes that one is not alone in feeling crazy bottomless motherlove. Connection rather than competition. It's why I can barely stand to consume news when children are involved in tragedies, because I know they are the best babies in the world too.)
Back to today! Beatrice is in full-on baby scientist mode. Her favorite occupation is putting objects into some kind of container, removing them from the container, testing them for hardness (with her many sharp teeth, of course), testing them for knock-ability (how do they sound when whacked on a hard surface?), testing them for clutch-ability (can she crawl with them in her fists? keep them in her hands while I slide them through the sleeves of a clean shirt?), replacing them in the original container, examining the full container briefly, then repeating the process.
And most beautifully, all this experimentation takes place within the safe container of loving relationship. She'll whack something on the ground, be delighted by the noise, then look up, scanning the room for a member of her family with whom she can share the experience. She'll take her objects out, spread them around, then pick just the right one to hold out to me: look, Mama! You touch it too! Try biting this, it's terrific!
This morning it was a set of nine pins that Gabriel likes to take out with her. It was novel to have them all to her best baby-scientist self.
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