Eve seems very close to crawling. You might even count the attempt shown in the video below, if you're generous. In general she seems to be growing up faster than ever. On Friday night we sat her in a restaurant's high chair for the first time (we've been using the high chair at home). Just the fact that she was sitting at the table with us made her seem like a completely different child (such a contrast from reclining in the stroller or car seat!), even though her head was barely at table level. I almost expected her to start talking about politics or the weather. Now that she was sitting alongside us, it seemed like it would be completely inappropriate for her to cry or otherwise disrupt the meal. And in fact she was civilized throughout the meal, aside from dropping Cheerios on the floor about 25 times.
Earlier this week I had deep thoughts about what it means to take care of a baby. It involves many small feats of greatness, doomed to obscurity because only the baby witnesses them. For example, on Friday morning I picked Eve's dirty plastic spoon off the floor and sized up whether I could throw it across the room into the sink, despite my unfamiliarity with the aerodynamic properties of this especially light spoon. I made my best guess and hurled it, and it fluttered and spun perfectly into the middle of the sink! Baby Eve had no idea of what her dad had just accomplished, because her view was blocked and she was playing with toys anyway. In any case she wasn't going to be able to tell anyone else about it for several months, if she even remembers by then. So I tell you now, so at least this one small feat is not forgotten. As for the dozens of other heroic little deeds that each day go unrecorded in history, the saving grace, I suppose, is that babies have their own way of remembering and appreciating them.
Earlier this week I had deep thoughts about what it means to take care of a baby. It involves many small feats of greatness, doomed to obscurity because only the baby witnesses them. For example, on Friday morning I picked Eve's dirty plastic spoon off the floor and sized up whether I could throw it across the room into the sink, despite my unfamiliarity with the aerodynamic properties of this especially light spoon. I made my best guess and hurled it, and it fluttered and spun perfectly into the middle of the sink! Baby Eve had no idea of what her dad had just accomplished, because her view was blocked and she was playing with toys anyway. In any case she wasn't going to be able to tell anyone else about it for several months, if she even remembers by then. So I tell you now, so at least this one small feat is not forgotten. As for the dozens of other heroic little deeds that each day go unrecorded in history, the saving grace, I suppose, is that babies have their own way of remembering and appreciating them.
