I was thinking about thirst
staring at the inside of my eyelids
when I felt someone staring at me
from the other side of my eyelids.
A head in a hoodie hovered
an inch from the top of the doorframe
My tall child, the silent sentinel stood,
“Hi Mom.” he smiled.
“Hi,” I answered, “what time is it?”
“Six, no, seven,” he answered then went back to bed.
“eeeeeeee-yup! oh-ah-ba,” she comments.
I noticed a spider crawilng up to the ceiling
where it was safe from me,
then back down to where I could reach it.
It didn’t live.
I hear the sound of velcro then,
ah, uh, ahdon, oooohhh, way, uhhh, ooooh,
(she sings along as she plays the silent keyboard,) squeak, ah.”
Why is there a keyboard next to a playpen?
It’s a small room and there could be worse things.
Just think about it.
I wonder if she remembers going to my friend’s
house when she played the piano for us.
My friend, not the baby, not yet.
velcro sounds again.
All the dolls that talk have velcro
closures around their battery packs
I’ve seen her search a toy for the velcro
seam on the back, then flip it over to push
the feet and hands waiting for the music,
talking or singing to start.
Sometimes, she turns the volume up or down or
changes the four songs/white noise maker
on the incessant lullaby sheep
Rain, Whale, Heartbeat or Ocean Surf
(She should have the choices of
waterfall, river, ocean or great lakes,
that would be fun.)
She is baffled by non technology toys
for about three seconds, then
she wrestles with them, hugs them,
then kisses them and uses them as pillows.
I made sure her first toys were
soft, technology free toys.
A plump purple orangutang wearing
a green hand made sweater.
Oh my goodness, I just remembered
when I was in a zombiefied highly
pregnant state that she must have a
stuffed animal when she came
home from the hospital.
Actually, the purple thing scared her
until I dressed it in that sweater.
(we still don’t know who hand knitted that tiny little
baby shower present, so I’ll just keep it
until the orangutang outgrows it.)
As a second option, I bought a green floppy frog
with a yellow ribbon round his throat,
her name and birth date written on it in marker.
I forgot about the Octoplush.
Well, it was her first talking
stuffed toy, but it was a nice tame gift.
Yes, it speaks the colors on its tentacle pads
in three languages when you press them,
but plays songs when you squeeze the head.
Though now, until I change the batteries it is
stuck on motion activated “O-range,”(practice your french)
so I turned it off and buried it in the stuffed toy bin,
as any busy mom would.
When I say tame,
I’m comparing it to the
“stuffed animal friends”
that talk to her,
say her name,
sing to her and
creep me out in the mornings.
Yes, yes, technology is good,
but whatever happened to
imaginary friends like Mr. Snuffleupagus,
the big invisible brown woolly
mammoth from Sesame Street?
Is that why most of my generation
is in therapy, or should be?
Or, is there some type of fear
that if it doesn’t talk on its
own she will somehow invite
demonic possession into a doll
and it will turn into Chuckie?
(Big A Digression, this morning.)
Violet, the stuffed dog, is
a non-possessed interactive
learning toy that my child
has bonded with,
talks and sings to
in the mornings.
The additional bunny
talks and sings
but is not so interactive.
This I prefer. My boys joke
that they’ve heard Girly whispering
in complete sentences to Violet.
It might be time for Violet
to visit the “toy box” soon.
“biggle,” she pointed to the wet wipes,
with two fingers in her mouth,
indicating that she wants to eat a wet wipe?
Or, maybe her gums were itching
as she noticed the wet wipes.
“roll ah,” she laughs,
as I make a rolling motion and sign her name,
she laughs again and I wave at her.
Peek a boo/jack in the box is a game
we play early in the mornings
I cover my face, she squats,
when I uncover my eyes
she is no longer standing
with her head above the rail of the bed
She is laughing at me through the side mesh
I cover my eyes again, then she stands up again,
big girly baby grin on her face.
Yes, this is how we do our morning exercises.
“bleu-oo, bey -ba-bu-ba-oh-wa, dubba, weeeba, blub, blub, blub, blub, ah,”
CLAP YOUR HANDS ALONG WITH ME, STOMP YOUR FEET, SING WITH ME,
PLAY WITH YOU IS SO MUCH FUN, I LOVE YOU, I HAVE TWO BIG FEET
says the less techno bunny.
“ah-huh, ah, wooooo, waaaaaaa, oooooh, ahhhhhhhh.”
She puts her blanket over her shoulders,
the toy gets quieter.
then kicks the blanket with righteous vigor.
She loves to sit on piles of soft things
like big comforters and pillows.
This is not a burrowing child,
but a kicking child if that makes any sense.
She will sit in a pile of softness and
kick the crap out of it.
I was a burrowing child,
the one hiding in the laundry basket.
soft bouncy fun
unrestricted motion without falling over?