It took forever, but Juliet knows me. She knows her nanny. And diaper changes, feedings and baths. She has always known her mommy. That was probably the first thing she knew. Lately, she’s learning about little things. It started when she found her feet.
Juliet plucks a hair from the carpet. Examines it like she’s doing a DNA analysis. It’s Mommy’s. In the mouth. Then, she blows raspberries.
Juliet touches the stubble on my face with her pointer finger. She adds the texture to the eight month old encyclopedia in her head. She’s building up a whole world in that little head. Our dry cleaning lady told me it was a big head.
Juliet and her big head are gonna crawl any second. She gets on her hands and knees and rocks, laughing. Teasing. She pushes with her hands and moves backwards. She finds a pillow, with tassles. She gets distracted. In the mouth!
More raspberries.
We cancelled professional pictures for the second time. Rain. We want to do them outside, at Elfreth’s Alley. Proof that Juliet grew up in the city, at least a little. Melissa can’t wait anymore. She wanted to do them inside, but the photographer wouldn’t do it. Said the pictures outside would be better. I’d been saying that all along. When the photographer said it, Melissa agreed. Melissa is afraid by the time we get a good picture, Juliet won’t be a baby anymore.
It’s going to happen any minute. She’ll crawl. She’ll walk. She’ll talk and she won’t be a baby anymore. And it’ll be too late.
“We’ll just have to have another one,” Melissa says.
“Three. Tops,” I say. “Right?”
“I want a million,” Melissa says.
Juliet blows raspberries. She pauses, and smiles. A million it is.
