Baby blog reaches in wooden cupboards, peering at shiny metal cans, Campbell’s Soup, tunafish. Baby blog’s a terror! Banging on pots and singing loud! Tossing whole wheat flour in the air! Like a dust cloud it falls everywhere, everywhere, creating new words, day-old sentences, paragraphs of delight.
What a mess. Baby blog’s a creative terror. Any six-day blog doesn’t know left from right. It throws all the words in a pot and simmers. Stews. Stirs. Will dinner be fit to eat? To read? Will sour and sweet and bitter and salty somehow merge?
Here’s your napkin. Wipe away crumbs of creativity. Let them fall on the floor. Baby’s over here slumbering now, worn out. We’ll sweep up the crumbs before the toddler awakens and begins to explore, helter-skelter, every nook & cranny a haven to poke pencils, ideas, bright pennies.
Heaven knows what she’ll put together. Heaven knows how we’ll clean it all up.
But aren’t they something, our babies? Don’t we love them so, even while we chase after them, wanting to keep them safe? Giving them enough rein to dream, enough rein to find the golden skeleton key without putting it in their mouth.