*I love the simplicity of days with this small human - observing Fiona’s fascinated observations of her pudgy hand, fingers opening and closing; watching her eyebrows lift in wonder or knit in curiosity; listening to her linguistic experiments, her complex, indecipherable storytelling. I have nowhere else to be, nothing else I must do.
*Memories of my stay-at-home mom past have reawakened – that self-recriminating, vaguely pathetic query to the working parent around 4/5pm. When might you be home? The memory of those harried, stretched-thin days rises like a fever. Help – my brain and my body are depleted. But isn’t the working parent more worn than I am?
*Being with a hysterical baby (Tessa calls it Tyrannosaurus screaming) is harrowing. It reminds me of the gut-wrenching strain of grief. Maybe that makes it empathy. In any case, one round of Tyranno-baby is enough to instill avoidance-tactics at all costs.
*The purity of Fiona’s smiles, her supple body’s burgeoning, insistent power of life – miraculous.
My 60th year in 60,000 words
Day 317: 161 words, TOTAL = 51,717; 8,283 remaining
CORRECTION: Tessa's phrase is actually "Pterodactyl screaming." Perhaps my error is an indication of the ferocity of my emotional response.
Robin Clifford Wood is a writer and writing teacher. She lives in central Maine with her husband and dogs, loves to be outdoors, and enjoys ever-expanding horizons through her grown children and their multi-species families.