Seeming Shy

My daughter and I had our first meal in a sit-down restaurant today without mommy. Daddy chose Vietnamese food, not through any real brilliance on his part. Baby sat in a high chair, with a less than perfect belt (we got through the meal), and I sat in a chair just a few inches from my angel. We enjoyed a plate of salad, barbecued pork chop, rice, and a sweet, thin sauce like mirin. The pork was too tough for baby to chew, but she enjoyed the rest of the fare. (She’d had three forms of protein earlier in the day.) My last several bites were achieved while holding onto baby’s overalls in back (I’d let her stand on the floor to buy a little time). As usual, she was the more popular of the two of us, smiling and waving to just about everyone in the restaurant and getting smiles and waves in return. I’m pretty extroverted at this stage in my life, but she makes me seem shy.

Walking Shoes

There are a number of ways to determine that you are about to take a walk. You can see the sun peek through after days of rain and feel the desire to go into the world come over you like a hunger. You can realize that a quick spin around the block might be just the thing to give you a new perspective on something, or everything. You can see snow falling and need to have the flakes melt on your face – or accumulate on the shoulders of your overcoat. The best way, so far, that I have determined that I am about to take a walk is to have my daughter come approach me with one of her shoes in each hand. It would be a shame not to reward such hope. And, so far, I have every time.