Not very long after her 2-weeks-old check-up, Alice started tanking milk like a little maniac. So, I kept feeding her.
Curiously, this had gotten stuck in our heads, and a new anxiety was born. Overfeeding the baby. She wants to eat. But I just fed her. But she wants to eat. Oh no.
We sent an e-mail message to her doctor who got back to us right away. She said (I am paraphrasing here. Imagine her saying this professionally.), “Duh. Growth spurt! Keep it coming. As much as she wants.”
Now we know. Duh.
And when, last week, Alice started getting midnight-snacky again, we figured that was what was going on.
But this time I think she must have been fueling some serious brain work, because she woke up this weekend like she wanted to shake off whatever is left of her sweet infancy and step into a new and willful silliness that – no kidding – will paralyze you.
She hides behind blankets and the crib slats and pops back out, laughing. Peekaboo. Only now, she starts it.
She pulled some throw pillows off a rocker and piled them on the floor. “Oh,” I said. “Night-night, Alice.” And she lie down on top of them.
“Night-night, Alice,” you tell her, and she puts her head down as though she is going to take a nap. What a small thing it must seem like. But oh, my goodness, she has never pretended before. Can you even imagine?
A boy from day care gave her a book for Christmas with rhymes that are new to us. (Not “Three blind mice,” but rather, “Three young rats with black felt hats.”)
(This one is on Page 15: “There’s something about me that I’m knowing. There’s something about me that isn’t showing. I’m growing!”)
It was unfortunate timing Sunday night when David opened the back door to let the cat in just as I was setting Alice on the floor a few feet away. They were nearly nose to nose.
The cat ran away.
Alice yelled, ‘Gata!’
As a bell.
And there it is. (My baby is a Spanish speaker).