Last night Chiara was playing in her room. She had arranged four chairs and a stool to make a little living room. Her favorite baby doll was asleep in a little makeshift bed made out of two of the chairs. The lawn chair was arranged like a Lazy-Boy.
When I peeked in, she informed me: “I’m taking care of my baby. I’m a grownup. I’m eating ice cream for dinner and watching T.V. and enjoying a glass of wine.”
I’m not sure what to make of that.
I wonder what she will be: this little person who thinks of grownups as people who allow themselves ice cream for dinner.
I wonder if she will ever learn how to count properly.
I wonder how her face will change and which parts of her chubby body are just chubby and which parts are baby fat.
I wonder when she will switch from being a light little fairy so full of life and curiosity to a sullen teenager or jaded adult.
I wonder when life will weather her face.
I don’t wonder if I’ll still be around to see it. I assume that I will be.
And the boys. It just occurred to me that soon they’ll be talking. Really talking. And then they’ll be five people in this house expressing ideas, invading the space in my brain that is closing in on itself like the walls of my living room. They’ll bargain and negotiate and complain and whine.
Just today Michael was asking where his pajamas bottoms were, but since he was asking by looking instead of saying, “Hey! I know I have matching pajama bottoms with rockets on them and I’d really like to wear them. And I know you hid them around here someplace,” he just wandered around the living room with his palms up, saying “eeeehhhhh-ehh?” and I could pretend that I had no idea what he was asking as I held up the pants I wanted him to wear.