If you’re reading this, chances are good I owe you an email or a phone call. Give me a little bit; I’m still getting over not seeing this face in the morning and I really need to go to bed right now or I’m going to be up till 3am finding out what the internet did while I was gone.
I missed you all.
Every time I come home I realize how much the sound of the doors opening and closing evokes memories for me, particular ones with particular portals. My bedroom door; my parents bathroom door; the front door downstairs. Is it just me? Does everyone hold in their neurons sounds as precise as these? Sweep of wood against wood, click of metal knob, slide of latch? No taste of madeleines for me; not even my mother’s perfume is so powerful.
I bought myself a new toy to bring to Singapore.
That is all.
I talked to Avi today; he’s going to become an uncle for the first time in August, and considering how oddly fond he is of children I suspect he’s looking forward to it even more than he lets on. Jenn and I have been emailing a bit this week after a little hiatus, and I haven’t quite figured out her post-Rwanda plans yet but it sort of sounds like she’s going to be doing less traveling than she’d originally thought—I suspect that’s because she can’t wait to come home and meet her two brand new nieces.
Me, I’m about to meet my own brand new niece. My sister recently wrote to me about Sophia.
Here are some thoughts about the munchkin with the gravity defying hair.
Most of the time she is a really happy baby. She loves people. If you are the first person she sees when she wakes up the morning (usually 6.30-7am), she rewards you with violent hand flapping and the HUGEST smile. Like you’ve totally made her day. She’ll flip over and grin and grin.
She’s smart too. She watches people all the time and listens intently when they talk. She gets quiet and sometimes frowns (she frowns JUST like her grandpa).
When mummy (as in Grandma) rocks her to sleep, she sings along! She coos and coos and gurgles. It’s hilarious. Mummy loves it. When you carry her she loves to reach out and touch your face, she’ll pinch too :)
She’s determined. Since she learned to flip over she’s never stopped trying. Now she’s trying very hard to crawl and works at it ALL the time till she’s pooped from the effort. She can push up on her palms with her backside high in the air swaying like a frog about to leap, but hasn’t yet gotten the hang of moving / crawling yet. If you eat or drink something and you are carrying her, she’ll immediately reach out with both hands to grab it for a bite! She puts everything in her mouth these days.
She loves to laugh and cackle and giggle….and is ticklish. She gets grumpy if you walk past her and look like you are going to pick her up but don’t. She has a special fussy noise she makes when she sees her grandpa. She’ll insist he carry her by arching her back & bum and she makes these….for want of a better word…………really MANJA noises!
When she’s been fed & has drunk her milk she can play by herself in the playpen. She eats up pillows, talks to her toys etc.
However, she’s a stubborn ass when it comes to sleeping and never wants to be put to bed even when she’s dying.
I can already tell she’s going to be grand.
(You know which one.)
My mother was fortune, my father generosity and bounty; I
am joy, son of joy, son of joy, son of joy.
I’ve been thinking a lot about my feet lately.
The other day I was reading a forum thread about bad posture and how to improve it, and I made a post confessing that not only do I have terrible posture, but I also have an overpowering habit of sitting on my feet because my chair is too low for my desk and I need some extra height to rise to a comfortable typing position. A fellow member (I think he’s a nurse) responded—alarmed—with words that struck terror into my heart:
That is scary… sitting on your feet, I mean. That can reduce or cut off your circulation to your legs, and cause venous clots in your legs… and the clots can break loose and cause pulmonary emboli… clots in your lung.
And people die from that every day.
Don’t do that.
So after nervously examining my feet for swelling or redness (none, but I often have foot-tingling up the wazoo after I get up from my seat) and checking for abnormal blood clotting behavior (none; I know because I rarely go a month without accidentally cutting myself), I’m officially in the market for a new chair—and possibly a new desk, as well.
Anyone want to contribute to the “Save Meera’s Feet (And Possibly Her Life) By Buying Her a Ridiculously Expensive Pogo-Stick” fund?
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