Early this evening, I bathed poor scrungy Dragon Girl*. There isn't much of her. It takes about six minutes, once everything is set up. (I don't know why baby-bathing was an hour-plus project with infant He'en. I guess I am reassured this time that a postage-stamp-sized washcloth is unlikely to harm a critter that's built to pass through a birth canal.)
After her bath, I brushed her auburn hair with the little plastic brush that the hospital sent home. With each feathery stroke, I sang a tuneless "brush, brush, brush."
And darned if she didn't smile at me, not once, but three (3) times! Plus, she expressed her appreciation with a little "gleep."
This is a huge deal, because I mostly handle night shifts while Sister Mine handles day shifts. I am not sure how such a tiny scrap of humanity can keep two competent adult females in a state of near-total collapse, but she does, so that's the division of labor.
On the night shift, Dragon Girl often is less than delightful -- although in fairness, I probably am less than delightful myself -- and our conversation is limited to:
DG: "MILK! MILK! MILK!"
Me: "...mumble...diaper time."
DG: "ARRRGGGHHHHHHHH ARRRGGGHHHHHHHH ARRRGGGHHHHHHHH!"
It's not what you'd call a great date.
But, oh, tonight, one precious "gleep," and a promise of more to come. Those are the moments that keep a new mama together. Thanks, Dragon Girl.
*The baby is so nicknamed because she was born in the Year of the Dragon. Marvelous Tess at Tree Top Thai says that children born in the year of the dragon demonstrate vim, vigor, and lots of go, because, she says, they have hands . . . and feet . . . and wings. With this one, I believe it. I had to pause this entry's development about six times to dance the child around the kitchen. Bless you, Pandora. She particularly likes Depeche Mode.