Rapidly

From September 9, 2007, her Baptism.
And I have been thinking that these images of her in my arms will soon capsize, spilling her down onto her own two feet. And she will no longer need my elevation, only want it, and only occasionally. She will flow out and back from us when this happens, like a tide. Taking things from us away with her, coming back to us with things that she has found, which she will carry and examine instead of shove along the floor in front of her crawling self. And it will be grand, and we will sigh and shake our heads at her goings and comings and flowing out and about into the world.
And then last night she did start to take those steps between her mother and I. Back and forth between us, back and forth. I can't remember being so entertained before.

Funny, she looks a little like a giggling Frankenstein when she's doing this.
Halloween's coming, kid.

A Few of My Favorite Things

Food-gunk on LaLa and photos at dinner,
Lean in the picture that's somehow a winner,
Bibs that have velcro and not tied with strings....

From August 21, 2007.

Wonder

Taken back in July, I just really enjoyed this picture of the two of us. Want it available to me wherever I am. Can hear her saying "Bah!" when I see it. Like that she's not looking at the camera, possibly thinking about milk.

Olivia is nearly a year old.
She can now say and do many more things than seemed possible for her even six months ago. Let this be a lesson to you, Jeff.
I think of her an inordinate amount, in relation to any other subject of thought I have ever known. And yet, it seems appropriate and well-deserved. I am unabashedly proud of her accomplishments and regularly kiss her on the top of her noggin as a reward, which she accepts with her usual aplomb and raspberry-sound.
Soon will come The Walk, with syncopated beat of tender foot skin under shaky stiff knees, then The Run, then even more of the Conkus of the Bonkus.
But until then, The Pulling Up, The Scooting Around, the more measured sound of crawling hands slapping floor and small knees knocking.
I'm enjoying W.B. Yeats' "A Prayer for My Daughter" , giving the line for the blog title, but moreso for the ideas that follow it:
The soul recovers radical innocence
And learns at last that it is self-delighting,
Self-appeasing, self-affrighting,
And that its own sweet will is Heaven's will;
She can, though every face should scowl
And every windy quarter howl
Or every bellows burst, be happy still.