A Big One and a Little One

I often think of this picture when bearing about my miniature woman with me or sporting together like two sea mammals at bathtime. When I saw these monkeys at a zoo in India, I said, “Look. There’s a big one and a little one!” We are a big one and a little one.

Winter has expressed a decided preference for my arms, and these days she often feels like one of my limbs, an unwieldy one. My sister, who studied child psychology once for a semester, informs me that a child views every other part of its surroundings as an extension of itself. In other words, my body is at Winter’s service. She politely allows me the use of it, but we both know I’m just a renter.

At twelve weeks, Winter is nearly grown. She’s the biggest that she’s ever been and is quite the little adult… fully emancipated, I should say. She chooses her own hours of eating and sleeping and otherwise dictates what she thinks should happen.

Winter thrills us with her smiles and conversations.

“Oh, she is pleasant,” her grandpa always says, taking off his glasses so he can see her better. “She is so pleasant. Margaret, she smiles so easy! Way easier than Charles ever did…” Pleasantness is a crowning virtue in this clan. Hide your dark secrets, and, by all means, be as pleasant as you can. We don’t appreciate tragic poses, and Winter is the queen of pleasantness, according to her grandpa.

Apparently, Charles was a sober child. To make him smile, his father would say funny phrases like “happy pickup” and “Angelina pooch.” It still works. I repeated them to Charles after hearing this story, and he promptly grinned. Charles was a little nomad as toddler, according to stories, and he loved animals, tormenting sheep, riding cows, and befriended by turkeys. Sometimes if I try hard enough, I can almost imagine him being like this. So much has changed.

Winter still refuses to acknowledge Mollie in spite of all efforts by Charles to introduce them into friendly terms. At this point, she has ridden the dog, reclined in the arms of the dog, and rested against her belly and generally interacted with the dog in every way that a small baby is capable of. One of my friends remarked that our child may never be scared of big dogs, but our dog may come to fear small children. Mollie endures the interactions, but Winter deigns not to notice the dog.

I’m starting to suspect Winter has a favorite parent, or at least one whom she finds more exciting. Our relationship is pretty humdrum, revolving around feedings, naps, and diapers. I am the complaint department, while Charles gets her biggest smiles and talks. She does everything for him first. His method of entertainment, denied the functions that a mother can fall back on, are much more creative, and perhaps that is the foundation of her admiration… airplane rides around the house (complete with hammerheads, loops, and spins) horsey rides on the dog, sliding exercises in the big basket chair and acrobatics of every kind, or playing chicken with Mollie while on stroller rides. He was the one to introduce her to his beloved maple syrup which she thinks is the best thing since breast milk.

Winter is a good baby in the normal way, but we have ceased to hold her up as an example to the generations to come. Being new parents, we don’t always know what are appropriate techniques. Sometimes it still seems odd to us that we can’t continue with our activities in the way we used to and are perplexed with the demanding little soul on her hands.

Charles, who is sensitive to sound, paces around the house with his restless child while I prepare supper or perform some other rite of household. At some point in the exercise, he almost certainly will materialize at my elbow and say, “What if I would just put her down and let her cry it out?”

The suggestion is in and of itself cathartic. It never happens. I am still trying to persuade him that crying is not a crisis, but he loves her very much. Upon returning from a recent flying trip to Saskatchewan, I think he was more excited to see her than me, but I didn’t mind.

Winter has enriched our family life in every aspect, and she has proved particularly useful in facilitating communication between her parents. “Should we tell Daddy to close his cupboard doors?” I say in conversation with Winter. “Can you hear the shower dripping? Maybe Daddy will go fix it.”

“Being wasteful is wrong,” Charles says to his daughter, whom he is supposed to be babysitting while I do away with some item of food that has molded. “You should tell Mommy not to waste food. Her dish cloths need changed too.” Stinky dishcloths are an object of abhorrence to Charles who starts every stint of dishwashing by sniffing my dish cloth and marching it to the laundry basket.

And so we live… Covid-19 and the arrival of our little papoose have made us into a little family overnight, and we all think it’s great fun, staying home together.