And the Great Work begins...

She wakes up suddenly, behind me in her crib. I know that the tiny quacks she issues are the sounds she makes during dreams, but I go to her anyway. Her face is wrinkled into that of a tiny newborn, exactly the way she looked the first time they handed her to me.

 

Earlier, after a particularly long and satisfying meal, she puts on her “poop face”. I hold her in a sitting position for what I would consider comfort while she does her business. She hangs her head, her cheeks puff out, her eyes go glassy with concentration. She looks like an old man. Older than her father looks. I ask her if she is an old soul. “Have you been here before, baby girl?” I wonder what it was like for her in her past life, and why she’s chosen us for this one. Has she? Or is it just the luck of the draw?

 

I’d like to say that I know she won the lottery, but I can’t be sure of that yet.

 

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While I’m home with her for the last few weeks, I am renting Queer as Folk episodes. I’ve never seen the series before, and I’ve made it to season 2. I just watched the episode where Lindsay tries but fails to win her parents’ approval.  I hope that even after all the things we do or don’t do for Ava, all the experiences we accidentally give her that will ruin her or send her running to therapy in her 30s, she never has to guess as to whether we love her. Really her. The way she is meant to be.