05/23/2008

She grins at me and three baked beans work their way out of her mouth and down her chin.

He is in the living room, flipping through flashcards, announcing the items he recognizes. "Heart." "Dolphin." "Cookie...One, two, three cookies!" "Zebra" (declared while examining a card featuring a gray umbrella).

She squeals. She needs more beans.

He hasn't come to the table to eat yet. He opens another bag of flashcards. More flipping. More stacking. More senseless review.

She is getting full. Less squealing and more grinning. She rubs her tongue along the only tooth she has. What is it? Where did it come from?

I note that they seem to live in separate worlds. He lives in a world full of running, talking, exploring, and questioning. She lives in a world of bottles, blankets, cuddles, and pureed peas. They are close in age. They are so far apart.

Then their lives intersect. I announce nap time.

"Na-night, Queen," Nathan looks adoringly her way, "See you morning. Good sleeps." Nia offers another tooth-revealing smile. And though they have little understanding and not too many words, isn't it good to be a Mom who can interpret as her children say "I love you" to each other?