A letter

Dear Claire,

Our time together ends today.

I've spent the past 12 weeks and one day off work to care for you. It's been one of the happiest three months of my life. Some days have been busy and challenging. Like the ones that, at 4:30 p.m., found you sitting on our bed ready to play more while I was slumped next to you desperate for a nap. Other days were wide open, like blank canvasses that we could splash with color. On those days, we hiked, played, explored. We covered most of the trails hugging Tryon Creek. We visited art galleries. We listened to the hiss of espresso machines at coffee shops. We greeted absolute (and sometimes annoying) strangers with genuine smiles. We drove 20 miles roundtrip at least once a week to mom's office so you could nurse and put a conference table to good use with a diaper change.

We practiced sign language at the library. You plucked your first flower petal, met your first duck, grabbed your first fistful of moss. You saluted the American flag flying in front of a rowhouse down the street. You helped me keep track of Cubs games, maddening as they were (though you didn't seem to care). We grabbed at each other's hair. We tested the limits of our vocal cords. We danced to Aretha Franklin and Talking Heads.

You watched me fold a lot of laundry and mix three batches of granola. You rode the Baby Bjorn as I mopped the floor and mowed the lawn. You tolerated my frequent trips to the computer to check e-mail. You somehow survived -- and forgave me for -- an unassisted trip via stroller down the front steps of our porch. You grew at least four inches, added enough flesh and bone to have inflicted tendinitis on both my wrists and fashioned yourself a silky head of hair. I grew (and shaved) several beards, became more careful with the stroller and acquired a reverence for the miracle of human life and spirit. Because you're full of both, Claire. Life and spirit.

I'm not going away, of course. In the years to come, we can still play our favorite game -- Peek-a-Boo -- for as long as you demand. It's just that my disappearances will be much longer now. I promise never to disappear entirely, though. I can't do that. Not after these 12 weeks. Not on your life.

You don't know what's about to change. You can't understand it. Something might seem different for a while --you won't be able to put your long little finger on exactly what. Or, you may not even notice. I can guarantee you I will.

If I could only sing from my desk when you need a song to make you smile, forget an owie, fall asleep. That's not real life, though. We all must learn to comfort ourselves, crawl on our own, let go of that which we hold dearest.

It was a great time. Thanks for being such a sweet girl.

Brent

Ms. Green Bean Jeans

We moved on this week to a new solid food: Green beans. Organic green beans and rice, to be precise. Sarah opened the jar, took one whiff and declared them inedible. Said she wouldn't eat them, so why would her daughter?





She was wrong.

Smiles surfaced like, well, bean sprouts. Lips turned green. Claire finished off both teaspoonsful.


This is good news for our hopes that she might one day become a Master Gardener.

Bubblin' hot

Mom and daughter take advantage of the unseasonably warm May weather to learn about bubbles.



Mom celebrated Mother's Day by taking a long bath, going on a three-hour shopping spree by herself and capping the evening by enjoying some time on the front porch with Claire.




The next day, the mercury hit 92 degrees. Claire and dad stripped down to their shorts and cooled off. No photos of this, I'm afraid.

Bananarama!

Success! This morning, Claire ate her rice cereal. Tonight, she cleaned up her mashed bananas. All of them. Wanted more.






Helps if you play a game of sorts and if mom pretends to eat, too.














This blog might soon transform into one about infant dining preferences.












Is that a happy customer or what?!? What family member do these photos remind you of?

Mark the charts

Claire turned 6 months old this week. She's now 27 inches tall and weights 16 pounds, 10 ounces. Based on the doctor's size chart, she's coming back to earth, though she's still quite tall for her age. I didn't note the circumference of her head, but it's safe to say she inherited that important feature from her grandad.

The brown rice chronicles

April 30th marked another watershed date: The date we fed Claire solid food. Only Claire wasn't shedding water by the end of the feeding. She was spitting cereal.

At first, she seemed eager to try the brown rice mixture. Perhaps she was just interested in the spoon.



Then, it dawned on her: The beings who had so far offered warmth, love and milk were stuffing a strange, bland, sticky mixture into her mouth. Repeatedly. And to top it off, the cereal was organic, with no-sugar added. What ever happened to smiley-faced Gerber?



A massive struggle ensued.....



Blistering stares were exchanged. Clothing was soiled. Spoons were sacrificed to the floor.

Finally, fed into submission, Claire gave up, withdrew into a semi-comatose state and shut her mouth tight. Feeding came to an abrupt end.



Little does she know, sweet bananas are next!

To the beach

Nana and papa brought Claire some nifty gifts during their visit (Was it really two weeks ago!?!?). They also set up her "Sit & Step" - a tough task, as it turned out. Here, papa gets in his usual work position.



The highlight of nana and papa's visit was intended to be the beach.




We brought along the pack-and-play to put in our beachside hotel room. But while Claire found it a great place to sit up and play, she liked sleeping in it about as much as a jellyfish likes being out of water. So, we sacrificed sound sleep and brought her into our bed with us.



That didn't stop us from taking Claire for her first walk on the beach. She seemed genuinely impressed. For about five minutes.



The weather was as good as we've ever seen it on the coast: Sunny, 60 degrees, almost no wind. Dad couldn't even fly the kite he bought for the trip. He picked up more than his share of driftwood, though, and spent some quality wave-watching time.



We're sure glad nana and papa made the trip. They got to see their granddaughter sit up on her own. She also became more interactive. At one point, she began laughing at and patting her own image in the mirror. This week, when I pulled up this photo on the computer, she got excited, squealed and kicked her feet.