Thora Takes Care of her Babies

Here's a little narrative snapshot of my (at times) angel baby.

Thora has LOVED her mini-stroller since we got it, several months ago. For the longest time, up until, say a few weeks ago, the stoller was just for pushing. Nothing could ride in there. Nothing. It didn't matter if Mommy was carrying a bag and pushing the big stroller and dealing with a discarded coat and now the sippy cup is falling out of the bag because the bag is so full, can't we just set this little sippy cup right here in the empty stroller? No. The answer to that is, and will always be, an emphatic No. Don't make me tell you again. That's how life was for a long time.

Then, one day when Thora and I were walking back from the dog park, each of us pushing a stroller (I get to push the big stroller and deal with a pulling, ground-sniffing, squirrel-lunging dog while keeping the toddler from running out into the road or stomping through someone's landscaping or from peering down into a window well, so this is always a really fun outing for me--come to think of it, why do I ever do that?), when Thora noticed a folded blanket in the bottom basket under the big stroller. She wanted it out. She wanted to hold it. She wanted to, was determined to figure out a way to hold the blanket in her arms (NOT over her forearm like a waiter, which was Mommy's idea), and push her mini-stroller at the same time. This did not work. What with the mittens. And her somewhat lacking fine motor skills. So I suggested that we roll the blanket up, in the general shape and size of a baby and put it in her stroller to push. And she went for it. The funniest part of the hour-long journey home (we're traveling something like 10 blocks, a trip that takes me 8 minutes to walk) was when Thora managed to tip over the stroller. "Oh No. Oh No. Baby. Baby!" she said, pointed at the blanket that was laying on the cold sidewalk. "It's okay," I said. "We'll just pick the baby up and put her back in." I did that. And Thora proceeds to say, "Okay, Baby. Okay," while patting the rolled up blanket. She was saying, "it's okay Baby, it's okay." That just about broke my heart and made everything wonderful and blissful... for about a second, because then she refused to hold my hand while crossing the street and dropped to the sidewalk to roll around and throw a tantrum. Then everything was back to normal.

So for a few weeks, we've been transporting blanket babies around the neighborhood, most recently, a set of fraternal blanket baby twins, a green blanket and a pink blanket. And I thought it adorable, but also a bit sad, when I would see her pass a pile of folded laundry in the hallway, spot a folded towel (oh, yeah, one day the blanket baby was really an old towel) and say to it, "okay Baby. Okay," while patting it lovingly. Do I need to get her a real baby doll? Is she really living this life without any knowledge of how pitiful it is?

Then yesterday, she wanted to push her monkey in her stroller, which she alternates calling "monkey" and "ooh ahh ahh," (Thora was taught that a monkey says "ooh ooh ahh ahh" while scratching it's armpits). Earlier in the day, we'd passed a pinwheel in someone's front yard, spinning madly in the wind. She loved this pinwheel. It was one of the last things she said before taking her nap, and I swear, it was the first thing she said when she woke up. "Noun and noun?!? Noun and Noun? Outside?!? Outside?!?" So after getting the piddliest of post-nap snacks in her, our mission was to go see the pinwheel. And surprisingly, this was a sight that she very much wanted the monkey to see as well. And so the monkey, the first object representing something animated, sat in the stroller and we headed out to see the pinwheel (like two and half blocks away, but given all that she is curious about, two and a half blocks can take us 25 minutes).

And sure enough, we didn't get but a half a block when Thora saw an airplane, a shiny silver arrow in the clear, blue sky. "Air-pane. Air-pane," she said. And I said yes, that I saw it too. And then she leaned over so that her face was inches from her monkey's face and said, "Air-pane. Air-pane," and pointed up. "Does he see it? Should we help him see it?" I asked and I picked up the monkey and held him up like I would hold a baby, facing the direction of the disappearing airplane. Then I put him back in the stroller. I thought that might do it. That we could continue on to see the pinwheel and then hopefully make it to the park before nightfall at 4:45pm. (It was 4:05.) No. Thora really wanted to be the one giving her monkey this experience. She picked up the monkey by the head, like you might pick up an apple, and she held the monkey up in the direction of the airplane, now long gone. Her fingers were covering the monkey's plastic eyes, his body hanging limp in a surprisingly sad way. And I was flooded with emotion.

By far, the strongest emotion was pride, that she could understand the beginning lessons of empathy, that she has the desire to help others, that she is nurturing to her little monkey and blanket babies, that she wants them to be "just right" in their stroller. Later, after we'd seen the pinwheel, had actually made it to the park for twenty minutes or so, and were now walking back in the dark, at one point she spent about five minutes adjusting her monkey in the stroller, trying to get his legs just right, and periodically taking him out to softly pat the fur on the back of his head. "This is my beautiful baby!" I thought as I watched her. This is the product of all the time I spend with her, the hours of adult conversation I've forgone over the last year and a half, the repetition of lessons, like "NO STREET" and "NO MOUTH" (meaning "get that rock/crayon/chalk out of your mouth"). This is the product of all the loving caresses, my at times forced patience, my desire to show her the world. Of course, there's a fraction of me that watches her scream just inches from her monkey's face, "Air-pane! Air-pane!" and I wonder, how much of this "nurturing" is her imitation of my nurturing to her. Yikes.

On a related note, at some point I will post about "How to Stifle the Impulsive, Impatient, Coercive Side to Yourself and Find the 'Zen Parent' Within." Seriously. I'm thinking about "the motionless stones that help to move the flowing river" a lot lately, on our 45-60 minute walks to the park. Actually, I don't know if this is part of Zen teaching. I'll need to read up. But seriously. I'm learning to take deep breaths a lot. You should hear me. Really, you should hear the way Thora goes around the house, imitating my long sighing breaths, except she does them with the faintest high-pitched screech. Here's something I don't need to read up on: It's important to keep a sense of humor about things.