Just a few days before Christmas, Emma began enthusiastically ripping any paper we gave her, which made for an easy transition to unwrapping gifts with Christine’s family. The tearing impulse is powerful, of course, but the tasting instinct easily overmasters it. And what does ruby metallic wrapping paper taste like? Arby’s.
Emma’s got a pretty nasty cold, meaning no one in the house is sleeping well. (Although the cats have managed to grab a nap here and there in spite of the yelling.) I’m up with her while Christine tries to get a little rest. Here’s Emma a few moments ago asleep on my chest:
Perhaps the first pictorial evidence that Emma will not always appreciate my need to exercise my wit. Whatever epigram I uttered failed utterly to soothe the savagely fussy beast. She sobered me up good proper.
On leave from her post in the foreign legion, Emma enjoyed some time along the shores of Crystal Lake. After taming the beastly body of water with several impressive yawps, she settled in and studied the patterns of light on the surface and the ripples in the sand beneath the water. She did, eventually, get to put her feet in the beach sand and in the lake.
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Emma has been fortunate enough to spend some time with her new friend Ben recently. Ben is about to become a big brother, and has been practicing his baby-holding. If Emma’s smile is any indication, Ben’s new brother or sister will be in excellent hands.
Powered by unknown forces, perhaps mechanical, perhaps gastro-intestinal, Emma has learned to fly. From her lofty vantage she watches the birds, the trees, passing neighbors and the moths swarming round the porch light.
We lowly mortals down here look on her works, we mity, and despair.
Emma reveals her super secret identity, Insomniette, the Baby Who Refuses to Sleep. Dressed in her power frog suit, she prepares to do battle with the forces of reason.
An introspective moment with Emma Livia Mortensen.
Nothing makes bath time lots of fun.
