This has been a standout week. If I were a better mother, the kind that keeps updated memory books and never goes to bed with dirty laundry in the hamper, then I would be filling up Maria's baby book with all the many milestones she has crossed. She has decided to open her fists, and reach for toys. She rakes her fingers across rattles, her kiwi puppet, and plastic fish. She can make one rattle move enough to play a musical reward. When laid out on the bed she can turn herself, like a hand on a watch ticking off minutes. She clings to her kiwi, and to her daddy's shirt, and her mommy's hair. She smiles all the time, except when she's sad, and she isn't often sad. When she cries it is adorable, strong, insistent and effective. The sound of her slurping on her fist makes me believe in angels, and dreams that come true... I don't know why. Maybe it's because when she has her fist at her lips and she is slobbering and cooing she sounds like a being full of hope, faith and grace. I love holding her. I love her.
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