Friday, May 13, 2005

Ode to a Miniature Love

Am totally unsure what work to show the Uber-producers. Am feeling slightly paralysed. By slightly I mean tremendously. All my work suddenly feels too flippant, or too earnest. Too cheesy, or too cynical. Too hot, too cold, not cooked in the middle, overcooked...

Little O continues to delight me, however. She's at the stage of kicking tiny feet into the air, grabbing onto things and squealing with delight. When R comes home, she is so excited to see him she starts panting and beaming at the same time. "I know you. You're that guy I sort of look like". When someone else is holding her and she catches a glimpse of me, she lights up. Not since my Afrikaans next-door-neighbour, Yirkie, had a crush on me has someone been so unequivocally excited to see me.

And there is that constant amazement at having been a conduit for this whole new soul who's suddenly in the world with her own personality and her own sense of humour and delight and spirit. It's bizarre that so many people go through this and yet it feels totally unique, as if no person before has ever experienced the wonder of being a parent...


Blogger Ova Girl said...

You need R to administer a short sharp slap, possibly followed by a glass of vodka. You are a great writer. Get out those samples AT ONCE Missy.

And your O-bservations are gorgeous. She's a lucky girly. But your mention of Yirky is sort of sad. Unrequited love is always a wee bit tragic.

10:58 pm  

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