Sunday, March 1, 2009


Last night, Diana and I planned a romantic dinner at home. I whipped up a disgusting meal I found on the internet (why I continue to trust the same internet that told us hairspray removes marker from walls is beyond me) and we lit candles and put in the latest Woody Allen film featuring three impossibly gorgeous women and one Neanderthal man.

Just as we were about to hit “play,” we heard Elijah upstairs in his crib. This was not the usual screams of “Mama!” and “Dada!” This was something different. He was having an elaborate conference by himself. Or possibly including his stuffed animals. Most of it was Toddler gibberish, but he would pepper in counting to 10, his ABC’s. The most hilarious part is he would begin every soliloquy by saying, “Okay.”

“Okay…blah blah blah…okay…one two fee four five six....okay.”

Diana and I crawled over to the stairs and sat on the landing, listening. And for some reason, this little guy talking to himself just hit us. Our eyes welled up with tears and we couldn’t remove ourselves from the steps.

With all the running around and chasing and tickling and admonishing him about destroying, we forget what an unbelievable experience it is to have a baby. What an absolute miracle…

Sorry. Just now I had to run upstairs and quiet our little miracle who refuses to take a nap. I got to his crib and said, “Eli…you have to go to sleep now.” He then immediately put his head down and pretended to snore with gusto.

The little miracle is turning into a wiseacre.

p.s. Today’s photo is from the series, “Vaseline. She no come out.”

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