Thursday, September 20, 2007
Rapps, Golden Age
I don't feel like waxing poetic tonight. So I'm just gonna go straight at it. Zoe is awesome. She's got "It." She's got that certain something. I feel like I should have to run a triathlon every day just to have the rights to see her. Or maybe pay tribute to her with a Big Mac. She can't eat it yet. She's only 3 months old. How quick it has gone. She's gone from being a 7lb 6oz baby, to a 13lb juggernaut of emotion. She's a presence. When she's carried into a room, the walls shake and the floor drops out. Everyone is left hovering in a stupor. They're staring at her. She just looks around.
What a goddess. She smiling. She complains when necessary. For example, if she's prematurely put to bed. There's gonna be dialog about it. She's gonna rule that dialog. It's gonna be the Zoe show. And for the grand finale, she'll get what she wants. She's got that touch. It'll be tough to tame it when she's older. They say you can't spoil a baby this small. But she had a fully decorated room before she was even born. Is that really necessary? She'd say so.
And I should give credit where credit is deserved. The Zostress has the best mother in town. She's a lover. She's smart. She's hard working. She's a fireball. She pulls no punches. She plays from the heart. We were watching "Kid Nation," and Jess wept. She cried first from being inspired, then second from compassion, then a third time just from laughing. She loved the show. She loves Zoe. Zoe is set for life. We could have a war on American soil. There could be a battalion of baddies in the backyard. Jess would just go out there, the trees would shake, the earth would drop out, and the world would be hovering in a stupor. Apparently, it's a genetic trait. It's a special power. It's like mine. I'm really good at eating nothing but Corn Flakes. I got the gift.
So back to Zoe. She's at it. She smiles. She holds her head up proudly. It bobbles, but it bobbles proudly. Her eyes are still inquisitive. They'll always be. She calls out in her raw sub-language. The language of pure accident. She gawks, She guggles (not a word), she grieves, she grunts, she's just gusting with the wind of will. I guess I AM waxing poetic. She's Zoe. It's special to be around her. She's so small. She's so warm. When you hold her in your hands, you wonder where her wheels are turning. It's a fun mystery. Soon, it won't be so mysterious. She'll be talking out loud. She'll be asking questions, barking commands, conveying legacy logic, motioning for puppy and feline delivery, giving food reviews, clothing reviews, commandeering the remote, etc. She'll be growing up fast. I already know it.
I feel lucky to have Jess and Zoe around. They're a funny little team already. We're in a golden age.