Abby has always had a great fondness for music, which, as an amateur musician myself, fills me with pride and delight. It was one of the first words that she spoke, and never a day has passed since without the sound of her little voice piping, "moosik!" She will respond to nearly any tune she hears- the off-key tinkle of a low-powered toy, the sounds of modern radio, or the unique rendition of a favorite tune from whoever is willing to sing her a song. Sometimes she dances, other times, she sways, or sits in rapt attention. And favorite children's songs with built-in movements fascinate and challenge her to watch, learn, and repeat.
I've even heard her start to sing. She can carry very simple tunes, like the setting of the ABCs.
But with her greater sophistication has come more particular tastes, and the precise balm to soothe her soul at any given moment can remain a frustrating mystery. Lately, those moments come all too frequently. When she wakes: moosik! But the little tune of her starlight butterfly will not suffice, as I struggle to change her morning diaper. When she sits down to eat: moosik! But she will not be mollified by any song that I might sing to her. When I bring her downstairs to play: moosik! Oftentimes, I can turn on the demo of the keyboard I keep in the corner (the William Tell Overture is a favorite selection). Other times, she turns it off impatiently, and beseeches me again. I am at a loss.
As far as she has come in her language development, it is at these times that I can still feel the vast barrier in our communication, and I feel a desperate need to cross it. However, I know that day will veritably come, at a price. Sooner, so much sooner, than I am prepared for, and no longer will her little feet hang off the keyboard bench quite like this.
And the baby sweetness of her voice will evolve into something older, more mature.
So I try to remember these things as I struggle to keep her calm in the middle of a noisy diner, when she insists on moosik, once again. When even the presence and playfulness of her visiting Aunt Ali and Uncle Joe will not distract from her desires.
The arrival of the food did wonders, though.
Not so much for little Michael, who, as always, chose that moment to tire of his car seat perch. As Ali and I passed him from lap to lap, he stared at our every bite in fascination, and I wished I had something baby-friendly to offer him.
He had a lovely nap upon our arrival home, however, and was in a fantastic mood through the afternoon.
Aunt Ali reaped the benefits.
And Mommy got some much needed rest.
Best of all, at dinner, Michael finished a whole ounce of peas. Perhaps the lunchtime tease did him some good.