Wednesday, August 29, 2007

Zoe, will be ten weeks in half an hour

I will rewrite this later to make it readable. Right now I'm too tired.
Zoe had a doctor's appointment today. It went great.

She's now 11lbs 13 1/2 oz.
She's also 21 3/4 inches long.

Her weight has increased 60% since birth.

Also, she's open mouthed smiling. Smiling like she's got teeth!
What a sweetheart.

Tuesday, August 21, 2007


As I sift through this jargon, from empty butter plate to happenstance manifesto, the requests pour in. Grace is requested in the face of absolute bafflement. My attendance is requested as the salve of familial security. I am requested to lead the untouchable perfection of an infant. There is a request that my face should always resonate with calm security, my posture should remain strict yet forthcoming, inspiring yet unassuming. And amongst the requests, a small voice asks, can you pass me the butter?

There is nothing failsafe in this map of directions. There are no completed trails. But now, there is a child that rides with me through undiscovered neighborhoods. One day we find Memphis. On another, we find the road to nowhere. I'm in for it all. Anything. Everything from the strictest hymn to the whispering in the background of an alt-electronica impulse act. I'm present for the Grateful and the Gothic. I'm on the smile with any mystery. Even the unsolvable, impenetrable cases that offer only the clues that wave and wink as I fall asleep. I'm up for any vast adventure, even the flirtations of an empty adventure that refuses to make eye contact, but continues to leave messages on your refrigerator. They remind of the ultimate adventure, a small handwritten note, that states, can you pick up some butter?

I can't claim wisdom, grace, peace, omnipotence, hypnotic presence, calm fatherhood, ghosthood, mirth, apathy, inconsolable bafflement, intelligence, worthiness, saintliness, greed, an altruistic nature, innocence, a violent nature, or anything left to hold with a look of pride or desecration. I just can't claim anything. And so I walk through the supermarket. I walk toward a general guess at my best qualities. I walk with a confessional cloud of confused intent. A gentle mist of intent, made up of individual droplets of best familial guess. I have a notecard in my fingers. It says, "Don't forget to pick up the butter."

Monday, August 20, 2007

Zoe, in half an hour she's two months

Am I impairing your sarcasm?
Do I do that?
Am I looking past you again?
What are you holding in your arms?
See me go.
Did I do that?
Am I impairing your greed?
We're so innocent
Am I ashamed to be laying here naked?
Kicking my legs.
Swinging my arms.
Are you ashamed?
All your walking and all your talking.
Am I impairing your judgment?

Wednesday, August 8, 2007

Zoe , on the brink of seven weeks

Zoe, on the eve of seven weeks. She still looks beautiful. There is still something mystical in her attention. She can watch you for hours and never feel like she's staring. It's a special talent. I think it has something to do with innocence. She's too young to judge.

And what is she up to? She's not quite smiling yet. She's dropped a grin here and there. She's got a variety of curious expressions at her disposal. A few of them contain half-smiles. She's starting to practice vocal communications a bit. Of course, her greatest vocal achievement is a simple "heh." She can play it loud or soft. As if either interjecting or rambling. It's cute.

She's just now been upgraded to size-1 diapers. Huggies. Also, she's just had to retire some of her very first onezies (body-suits?). Yep, she's growing up. As we walked around the neighborhood today, I noticed that she's beginning to fill out the front pack. She's still very small though, with her legs dangling free, her head still does not clear the front of the Bjorn. She huddles behind it, with her hands in front of her, or under her chin. She watches and looks around as we cheer her on. I put rocks and bark and leaves in her hand. She holds on to them a while. It's always fun to see when she opens up her palms and lets 'em go. It's an example of one of those small mini-miracle-mysteries that babies are constantly telling.

We really love our Zoe, and are having a great time with her.

This friday, Grandma Kathy is coming to town.