4.25.99

Things – you – move so quickly. You’re sitting up now with a straight, straight back – in command as you reach for this and that and completely unperturbed when you tip – as you always eventually do either back or to one side (though if you fall to the side you pass it off as a move to get onto your stomach). Everyday you’re more and more in control of your movements. Sitting upright in the stroller, surveying your increasingly large domain. Your latest discovery: your hair, which you tug at, sometimes so resolutely that I worry you’ll pull it out (your remind me of Steve Graff’s only being able to think if he’s tugging at his forelock), especially when you’re nursing. Your hands are lovely, soft, yet solid things, gentle and purposeful, as they range over my chest, your hair, my necklace, the air as you nurse. Your body when you nurse is not at rest, but active, ranging, though it’s not clear what for. It seems that for you to fall asleep you need to fight your way through a physical barrier. You kick, push with your feet, rear your head back, and then you’re gone. Again you were medicine tonight. George Mosely was sad, fighting depression and he came over and spent the afternoon and evening with us. You let him feed you, and like you did when Papa was sick in the hospital – beamed at him each time he sought contact. You’re a lovely girl.

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