Oh, See, That's Just Adorable

I swore this wouldn't happen. I swore it. I told myself, "Brian, thou shalt not." I made God, in my head, and He told me in His infinite wisdom not to do this thing.

But I have failed my self-God. I have lost track of all those things I thought I hold dear and I have failed.

I have fallen completely, totally, head-over-heels in love with my daughter. I mean, I already was, but it's like that Sting lyric "every little thing she does is magic." I love her smile - the way that if I smile at her, she'll take a minute to think about her reaction and then give me this big goofy toothless grin back. And if she gets really into it she'll sort of squirm and get shy while she smiles - which is just all the cuter.

Or that damned bear. I swear to self-God, and real God, I hate that bear.

Maybe I should clarify.

When Lorelei was having trouble getting to sleep at night, around the time she was two weeks old, Kirsten and I broke down and bought her a little bear with a recording of a heartbeat (apparently as filtered through the muscle and amniotic fluid of a womb), which is supposed to soothe her. Problem is, it sounds like this evil tympani-pounding demon. The exterior is all teddy bear, of course, but the inside? Satan. With rhythm.

So we brought it home, and turned it on during the day, so Lorelei could get used to it. She was totally nonplussed, but the cats freaking freaked. They both came pelting down the stairs to see what this terrible slave-driving viking music was, eyes wide, tails bushed. They just stared at this bear like it was something out of Edgar Allen Poe.

Interesting self-absorbed side note: I used to know The Raven front and back, and it remains one of my favorite poems.

Anyway, this demon bear is now one of Lorelei's favorite possesions. We can prop her up in the corner of her crib (she can't sit yet, or at least not perfectly, which in and of itself is adorable), and just plop the bear in front of her - and she goes all googly-eyed and coos at what is almost certainly an escapee from the seventh circle of Hell.

But because I'm all gushy over this kid, I think it's cute that she's such a fan of her unholy monster toy. Sort of like I imagine Claus von Stauffenberg's parents thought it was cute how much he liked briefcases.*

In fact, I'm so tickled pink about this little daughter of mine that if her first words are "Demon Bear" or "Unholy Hell Beast," I might mist up a little more than if they're something stupid like "Dada," "Mama," or "Four Score and Seven years ago..."








*Yes, that's really a plot-to-kill-Hitler joke. Don't like it? Tough.