Friday, May 06, 2005

Poison, Smart, Bedtime

A couple days ago I left Sofi on the couch for a moment and when I returned discovered she had somehow gotten ahold of mommy's bottle of Proactive, cap off, and was mouthing the side of the bottle. Some of the Proactive had spurted on the couch. I thought we didn't have to worry about that kind of thing until she was crawling.

Stupid theory for the week: maybe our society becomes so body conscious because we keep telling our babies how cute they are. At a very young age they learn to place an inordinate value on cuteness. No more! I've started telling Sofi she's smart...with very little evidence so far to support that claim. "Who's a smart little baby? Who's a smart little baby?"

I'm the official put-to-bed person in the family. I enjoy this role. I read a story, then cuddle her in the glider chair in the dark while a wind-up stuffed Eeyore plays Brahm's lullaby. Getting her from the chair to the crib is the tricky part. The last two nights I managed to do it without any crying at all. Rock.

1 comment:

misterorange said...

Dude, may I suggest Shel Silverstein. My daughter Annie -loves- his work. So much so that she has completely memorized poems and huge chunks of other poems from his two books 'A Light In The Attic' and 'Where The Sidewalk Ends'

Her favorite is "Polar Bear" from A Light In The Attic and she can recite it if you get her started with the first few words.

I too became the bed-putter-downer in the fam, and it's a great role :)