At 10 months old, Noble's blathering about someone named Baap, twerking when she hears the right beat, attempting dangerous acrobatics and has turbo charged her crawl. She's noticed that the foam flooring in her room is ripe for chewing and dismantling, that electrical cords can be unplugged on a whim and wants to find her way inside the fridge before the door shuts real bad. She's screaming with someone else's voice when we put her to bed and has begun throwing mini-tantrums: arching her back, turning red and screeching with hot urgency whenever she feels the moment deserves it.
Writing these days is an impossible dream; facts and phrases hanging limply in the ether vanish when her tiny hands approach my laptop, plucking out keys, slamming out wild unplugged prog rock and reminding me that my dreams are not, for the moment, my own. Sharing has come naturally to this relationship, and it is truly a privilege to swap so many stories over farts and spilled food. It's like middle school really, but I've got better hair, more defined brows and a smarter wardrobe. My current best pal, as it was all those years ago, is a petite girl with a lust for life and a healthy sense of humor who inspires me to play up the slapstick.
We've settled into a routine since Bill was hired to work from home, one which unbelievably hasn't included any time in front of the TV until now. I feel like someone with the wherewithal to use a straw is ready to taste the next level of laziness, but she seems unfazed by the bewitching pull of HBO's Sesame Street Classic. Most of our hours are spent playing on the floor, puzzling over simple geometry, fighting on the changing table or crawling around picking up/binge eating debris off the floor. Bill and I have been wondering about choosing an eventual pet for Noble, but neither of us see the reason for a dog when she does so much of her own clean up after meals. We'd consider her preferences, if she had any. She's so loving and open to new experiences that there's little she doesn't respond to with enthusiastic cheer, save for kale, which she fumes at, sneezes at, and rubs all over her face to keep out of her mouth.
This past weekend I left her overnight for the first time so I could take a quick road trip alone. Driving to Houston in the rain I felt the zing of possibility. Might I pop into a shop hands free? Roll down the windows and blare a little Streisand? How many hitchhikers can I accommodate without the car seat? I met up with friends for delicious
Thali, then spent the next day rearranging their house, the number one activity I've been craving since Noble arrived. I felt the thrill of pulling everything out of a room and creating a brand new space, solving riddles of efficiency and aesthetics, all the while wondering how I can implement such fulfilling work into my days at home while still caring for Noble full time. If it's possible, can I also get a little paid? Mysteries abound. Going back to work just to cover the cost of childcare is likely still a productive use of my energy, but the quest to find the ideal job that accommodates being present for tender moments like these is hard to give up on.
