matching tracksuits

Every night around eight-fifteen, eight-thirty, I take the Girl for her bath. “Bath” is one of the few baby signs we use consistently, and last night, she provided humorous evidence that she truly understands the sign. I came out of the bathroom after preparing her bath and she was looking at one of her favorite books while sitting at the bottom of the six stairs that separates the upper and lower portions of our split-level home. “L,” I called. She looked up, and I began making the waving my arms as if splashing the water. “Halapu ciapu!” I called out, Polish for “splish-splash.” She tossed the book aside, pulled herself on her feet quickly, held out her arms, and smiled hugely.

Every morning around three, the Girl wakes up hungry and wet. I stumble into her room to change her diaper; K heads downstairs to prepare a bottle; the Girl usually just cries. Lately, though, she’s been increasingly calm as I begin the process, and last night, she remained calm throughout the whole change. She would start to get fussy but I managed to calm her with some reassuring words in my sleepy, calm voice and a gentle stroke of her cheek. She didn’t break into hysterics even when K entered.