Anyway, I blame the cats. Actually, blame isn't quite the right word. I credit our felines for inflaming Zinnia toward movement, though our lives will never be the same.
Two weeks ago, Honey and Duma officially entered Zinnia's awareness. For Z.'s first 5 1/2 months, she and the cats co-habitated, but more or less ignored each other. Zinnia's attentions was drawn more to colors and shapes, the warmth of her mother's bosom, the embracing masculine energy of her father's hairy arms. She was a creature of the senses, a slave to hunger, joy, exhaustion, and injustice (e.g. she would and cries bitter, bitter tears every time Jenn or I have the audacity to lay her on her back so we can cram her arms into her pajama sleeves.)
Then one day, Honey sauntered by, brushing her tail across Zinnia's face as she passed as if to say, Look at me--aren't I pretty.
Zinnia looked up mouth agape with an expression of delight and awe. Wait! Papa, did you see ... ? My goodness, I'm simply enchanted. I must have that.
She has been in hot pursuit of the cats ever since. If Zinnia is sitting on her bum when Honey or Duma float by, she will start to bounce up-and-down, up-and-down, up-and-down, until she gains enough momentum to propel herself forward to all fours, aaaand she's off, chasing whichever kitty happened to have crossed her line of sight. If Z. has the good fortune to actually touch one of the cats, well, pure bliss. She grabs a handful of fur and gives it a good yank until the cat yelps and leaps out of harm's way. Honey, to her credit, has been much more indulgent than Duma and lets Zinnia "pet" her longer than one might expect.
Recently, however, a battle raged in the house of Bender-Lukesh, one that risked fracturing the harmony of our abode and had me wondering if a curse had been placed upon all of our heads. Zinnia, you see, loves the crackle of a good plastic bag ... but so does Honey, who has a penchant for lying on top of various objects around the house in a conquering sort of way. Two days ago Zinnia, exploring her new found freedom, crawled over to liberate a plastic grocery bag upon which Honey had pounced. After Z. made several passes at the bag, she latched onto one of the handles and yanked. Honey rolled to her side and grabbed at the bag with her front paws to pull it back. Zinnia continued to reach and grab while Honey, not yet willing to give up the fight, swiped at the plastic with her claws. Our daughter, undeterred, finally wrested the bag from underneath Honey's body.
Although I had been ready to separate the two the moment things got out of hand, I was curious how it would play out. Honey was careful to only claw at the plastic and did not come close to snagging Zinnia. I was in awe of the awareness that she brought to the game. Too, this face-off reminded me of that news story about a pack of wild dogs who viciously attacked an alligator. The photo (below) was prefaced with this bit of narrative:
At times nature can be cruel, but there is also a raw beauty, and even a certain justice manifested within that cruelty. The alligator, one of the oldest and ultimate predators, normally considered the apex predator in its natural ecosystem, can still fall victim to implemented team work strategy, made possible by the tight knit social structure and survival of the fittest pack mentality bred into canines over the last thousands of years by natural selection. See the remarkable photograph attached, courtesy of Nature Magazine. Note that the Alpha dog has a muzzle hold on the gator preventing it from breathing, while the remainder of the pack prevents the beast from rolling. Beware! This is not for the squeamish!
(Keep Going ... )
(Almost there ... )
Hand-in-hand with Zinnia's new found mobility is the necessity for Jenn and I to be even more vigilant as to her whereabouts. Accompanying this vigilance is an even deeper level of exhaustion, which has been Jenn's and my companion lo these last six months.
Prior to Zinnia's birth, sleep deprivation was one of the things other parents warned us about with a just-you-wait twinkle in their eye. I would listen politely while thinking with an internal eye roll, Thanks for the sage wisdom. I had never heard that having a kid could be exhausting. However, until one is actually living it, yeah, okay, I kinda see what all the hub-bub is about. Having a kid is fucking exhausting.
Of late, I've been more snappy toward Jenn than usual, my libido has bottomed-out (but pays a visit several times a month just to remind me what I'm missing), and each morning at 5:00 a.m. I pray for Zinnia to go back to sleep before I surrender to the reality of her charming smile.
Additionally, and to my dismay, a wave of baby-related items are now strewn about the house like flotsam after a tsunami; the bedroom carpet is starting to resemble a shaggy Rorschach blot; Jenn and I are arguing more (or sometimes just withdraw into our respective bubbles); and the cats are thanking their lucky stars if I even get to their litter box most mornings. A slew of bills magically arrives on the same day each month; I squeeze exercise in when I can; and my writing practice has been whittled down to catch-as-catch-can nub. Also, I still have times when I feel like an unfit father, particularly when Z. is squirming around while I endeavor to spoon her into her pee-jay's. When she starts to cry in what I call her, "Deep-Sea-Diver-Writhing-From-the-Bends" wail, it affects me like nails on a chalkboard. During these moments, what I want to do (and actually do do ... sometimes**) is shove Z. back at Jenn, walk out of the bedroom, and close the door.
Given the above, then, why on earth are Jenn and I even discussing having a second kid. (Oh no he di-int!) It is more a fleeting fantasy than close to reality, but if I were five years younger a second kid would be a distinct possibility. Each and every day, Zinnia can (and often does) present me with a peak emotional experience that is so precious and pure and delightful, the idea of being able to experience this sweet stage all over again is quite alluring. Z's laugh and smile stand on their own as the highlight of my day, and when I enter a room after being gone for any length of time, she reaches out an arm as if to say, I'm ready to shower you with my love now. Her coos in the early hours of the day have become my morning song.
*But we continue to hold steady
** Hee-hee! I said "do-do."
The happy nudist fulfilling her heart's desire to play with the cat's water dish.
*But we continue to hold steady
** Hee-hee! I said "do-do."
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