Nursing Buddha

Happy belated birthday, America. I made this dinner plate sized cake for you!

We’re just a few weeks away from Baby Buddha’s first birthday. Do you feel dizzy? Is the room spinning? I need to sit down.

In the meantime, I’m reviewing our catalog of baby pictures and it turns out it doesn’t even take a second child for me to get really lazy and remiss with documentation, I’ve already started falling down on the job with baby the first. We took something like one bajillion pictures of Baby Buddha in the first three weeks of her life. In the last three months, I’ve taken 37 or something.

So for this entry and its huge span of time, I have only the BeeBee adventuring in Germland, aka the play area of our local mall. I know, I know, I suck. But it’s a thousand degrees outside and a few weeks ago I managed to purchase and leave the store with a work shirt with the security tag, or should I say fake plastic thing that does nothing, still on it. I had to go back to hell to get the stupid plastic thing that does nothing off, and right outside the store is Germland and all its little beasty citizens, aka other children, aka irresistible babycrack. BeeBee loves Germland and its beasties and they love her.

I didn’t take any pictures of the other citizens interacting with her, though I should have. I just don’t know the protocol on photographing other children. But if I had taken pictures of her with other kids, it would’ve looked a lot like several 2-3 year olds petting and lightly prodding the BeeBee as if she were a beautiful alien creature or the first washed-up on the shore jelly fish they’d ever encountered.

One little girl in particular took a shine to her, sitting across from the BeeBee and tickling her under the chin, stroking her hair, trying to hold her hand. The Beebee was at first shocked, then completely mesmerized by the attention. The little girl was Asian and her dad the entire time was shooting off rapid fire instructions to her in their native tongue. I have no idea what he was saying but I’m guessing it was a little like the obsessive chant we recite to BeeBee when she’s petting my parents’ dog: nice touches, gentle, no hitting, nice touches, gentle, no hitting. Despite nervous Dad or maybe because he was so convincing, the little girl was really very sweet, enough that I didn’t immediately slap her off my child who up til now has pretty much never been touched by a stranger. When we all end up with the sniffles in a week, remind me so I can go back to being an overprotective meanie without feeling guilty.

Conquering Germ Island in the inlet of Germland.

She’s playing invisible slide trombone here trying to lure other children closer. On her tippy-toes, so no wonder they flocked over five seconds later. Also pictured: perfect baby legs and fluffy cloth diped booty. They have mind control powers so don’t look at this picture too long. I warned you.

This is what my mom would call “holding your mouth just right”. It makes all things possible, like the .3-second free-stand she did after pulling up on me.