Visitation.

Billboard on 494

The site of the RNC is about a mile from my apartment, and suddenly my neighborhood haunts are densely populated with tan people in golf clothes, and if I stick my head out the window and take an exploratory sniff, I can smell the smell of Republicans. (BenGay and money, in case you’re wondering).
To be fair, we are also overrun by protesting hippies, who have a musk all their own, and what with all the excitement (and the fact that if I move my car I will surely lose my parking spot), we’re staying close to home this week. Simone can wait to be a part of the political process until November—on the first Tuesday of that month, I intend to take her with me to vote. Some might say such a demonstration of civic responsibility is pointless before she is old enough to understand it, but WE TAKE VOTING VERY SERIOUSLY IN THIS FAMILY. Infancy is no excuse.
In fact, Simone has decided to form her own Political Action Committee. It is to be called “Babies Against Nature” (BAN) and will be lobbying to do away with teething, a practice she assures me is a serious human rights violation. So far, BAN’s activities have primarily confined themselves to protests (Cry-Ins) held in the early morning hours at my apartment. I am working on getting Simone a permit so that she may take her civil disobedience elsewhere.

Last week, we had a less controversial visitor: Auntie Schnozz flew in to see her Interniece. She had requested that my daughter master laughing before her visit, but unfortunately she missed it by a day—Jenni left Thursday, and Friday marked the occasion of Simone’s first human-sounding laugh. (She had made a sort of drawn-out HUUH! sound before, which I could tell she thought was laughter, but nothing more recognizable). However, the baby WAS on her best behavior for our guest—eschewing crying in favor of chatting companionably with her left foot and beaming when Jenni shook her head so that her pigtails swung back and forth, an old vaudeville routine that still amuses the babies of today.

Her aunt’s departure reminded Simone that she was teething, and she decided to demand 24-hour cradling for several days afterward. This is a sticky proposition, and not just because of the cascade of drool bonding her cheek to my shoulder: I have work to do. We now possess Hyland’s teething tablets, Infant Motrin, Infant Tylenol, several teething rings, and a passel of frozen washcloths for masticating, and still, she moans. I searched the shelves of our local drugstore for Infant Laudanum, but to no avail. It has been a difficult week, as deadlines don’t care if your nursling is teething, and I don’t mind telling you that I wish Simone were more able to amuse herself during the day, perhaps by acting as my typist.

Happily she finds ways to make up for the loss of productivity. For instance, by letting me dress her in fetching knit caps:

Guten Tag!Booties

Kewpie