“Froggy, Daddy. See froggy?” (froggy is a lawn sculpture in the neighborhood)

“Um, I’m not sure, sweetie. Where is the froggy?”

“Might be down the street?”

That, in a nutshell, is how things have changed since one year ago. Blackbird is no longer a little mystery. She’s a little girl. She has opinions, preferences, thoughts, and observations. All of which she can communicate. And act on.

Let’s look back over the last year.

Blackbird gives her imprimatur to our decision to support wind energy. I bet we’d get more done in Congress if those cute little pudgy baby hands pointed out policy initiatives on the floor of the Senate.

Blackbird oversees her legion of duckies and manages her book collection. Overseeing and managing tended to yield the same results: Daddy picking things up off the floor. Back then, that poster was just a nice picture. Nowadays, Blackbird can sing the alphabet with ease. Though L,M,N,O,P is sung as “elmmmmpee”.

Blackbird, lost in thought. Or tired. Hard to tell with her sometimes.

Uncle Brian makes both his wife and his niece squeal with delight. Not sure if the same scenario would play out if Aunt Rebecca and Blackbird switched places.

Blackbird has always been a go-getter when it comes to physical feats. Here she is at the playground. Keep in mind this is before she could walk. Notice the soft-soled shoes. Now she takes those steps standing up on her way to the big spiral slide, in her big girl sneakers.

These are the moments you just sit back and drink in. Blackbird pulled herself up on the door frame to look at the spring blossoms on all the trees that morning.

Of course there are always moments like this one, which I love because it turns my little pip into the Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

Her love of the outdoors and animals, coupled with her curiosity and her inability to walk, meant that trips outdoors were often sweaty affairs featuring lots of carrying (I have a hard time leaving her in the stroller).

But usually we could find someone happy to lend a hand or two.

My hiking baby goes bohemian with Uncle Brian’s cap. She’s quite choosy about hats. In that she usually chooses not to wear them. Notice that I’m now holding her. She has ended the bipedal locomotive portion of the day’s activities. But later that day…

She walks! At a BBQ with our good friends, Blackbird found her land legs and starting zipping around. These are some of her earliest steps. The look on her face says it all: “And next, the world!”

Cooling off on the porch. Summer has been my favorite time with Blackbird, by far. I can’t wait for next summer, now that she can frolic on her own.

I’ve seen this girl get flummoxed by some pretty minor things, but she had this popsicle handled. Thank god she didn’t get any brainfreeze. Not looking forward to that.

One of my favorite images of Blackbird. I love it when she’s absorbed in what she’s doing, and not just because it means a respite for me. Her unselfconscious focus is fascinating and often perplexing. She’s just as likely to be taking the same two objects out of a bag and putting them back in over and over again as anything. But all the same, it tickles me to see her so fully absorbed in a task. I can hear the little gears turning, as they do all day.

Bar fight! Blackbird performs an extra-cranial experiment in light polymer structural dynamics. Her willing assistants give it their all. Particularly Jackie. This is truly a working vacation for this intrepid scientist, seen here at the Spring Thing.

I expect this will be a pretty good visual metaphor for much of our father-daughter relationship: “Get-off-of-me-daddy-you’re-embarassing-me-oh-my-god!”

This is “My Bumble Bee”. A work done by my daughter about 4 months after her first birthday. This is the kind of thing they include in a horror movie. You know, the one where the kid draws the scary monster and a picture of their parents being eaten, or their family with a ghost next to them, or whatever. Except this is clearly a dread Shoggoth, traveling across the membranes that separate our world from one outside of time, where foul beings of unknown geometries swim in the endless chasms of mindless infinity.

So Blackbird clearly gets around, is what I’m saying.

This is Blackbird in her “avoid eye contact at the bus station” outfit from the summer of ‘09.

Rocking out with Aunt Becca. This kid knows good music when she hears it. You’d know it was bad music if she was rushing the stage with her cup raised instead.

One of Blackbird’s favorite places: BB and Pop-pop’s house. These stairs are so emblematic of the experience of her grandparents’ house that she talks about them in front of pretty much any set of stairs leading to an unfamiliar house.

Blueberries.

BLUEBERRIES.

Mmm… peaches.

Dude. Check it out. There are blueberries in here. Get a photo. Quick. I can’t stop myself.

Blackbird loves tomatoes.

No tomato is safe.

Really, it’s just that she loves to eat. When the food is right, she is fully committed.

All gone. (wah wah wah waaaaaaah)

Blackbird loves champagne grapes. (Cue Eddie Izzard shouting “Champagne!”) That is a happy kiddo right there. I think she ate the whole bunch that day. Bless the farmers’ market.

Her walk says one thing: I own this place. This is my town. Let’s roll. ‘Stayin’ Alive’ would be fantastic theme music at this moment.

How little kids can sleep all contorted in their carseats is beyond me. Blackbird is pretty good at it. And thank god. Because when she’s awake in the car, it’s a like the request lines are open. Luckily Alisa is a good singer.

Does that giant slide at Smith look like the coolest thing ever? Well that’s because it pretty much is when you have a toddler in your lap. “Again, Daddy! Again! Slide! Again!”

But remember, even after a hard sweaty day of running around and playing, be sure to eat your sandwich “pinkies out” style. Anything else would be improper.

Stylin’. Rocking the rhinestone sneaks. Readin’ about pandas.

“Efficiency is priority number one, people. Because waste is a thief.”

Blackbird and Mom check out the Summer Palace at Morris Arboretum. After a brief period of uncertainty, she went in. Then out. Then in. Then out. Then in… we had to drag her away.

She will eat an avocado with nary an adornment. She will eat it right out of the skin. “Ah-cado” is a big hit.

Dioramas at the Academy of Natural Sciences. She could’ve spent all day running between them and shouting the names of the animals. I’m pretty sure those horns aren’t hers.

Autumn walk with Blackbird. She discovered kicking leaf piles.

This is what TV does to families. Blackbird is a couch potato and I am a Barcalounger. Let us serve as a warning to others.

The visual metaphor continues. She is going to develop a killer teenager face. And I will respond accordingly.

::cough, cough:: “Monsters Inc, daddy?” A sick Blackbird blobs out on the couch and recovers from one of many colds.

The first fort of many, if I have anything to say about it.

The Please Touch Museum in Philly is incredible. Blackbird loves it. It is the “Please Touch Zemo!”

She got so excited last time, she laid an egg.

Was mesmerized.

And was beside herself with glee.

Most adorable terrorist ever? Could be. She will run around the house with this hat over her face. No collisions yet.

Blackbird finally latched onto some stuffed animals this past summer. I was in a local toy store with her and the only toy she wouldn’t put down after picking it up was a black and white stuffed cat. She’s picked up others, but kitty is the original. Doggy is also pictured here.

This is where we are now with the buddies. Soon she’ll figure out how to just build a ramp out of animals and hop out of her crib on her own.

Halloween! That’s my little puppy peeking past the pumpkin.

“I know I brought some cider. Not sure about you, but I’ve got my cider.”

Face painting is a favorite of Blackbird’s.

My Halloween ladies out on the prowl.

This puppy has a lollipop. This is one happy puppy. At one point in the evening, she was walking along from house to house with a bouquet of lollipops clutched in her hand, plastic pumpkin in the other.

I love this getup. It’s Astro Boy in the legs and Captain Jack Harkness in the coat lapels.

Blackbird got into Thanksgiving a bit more this year. I think next year she’ll really get into the whole Thanksgiving feast thing.

Friends who ride swings together, cry together.

A little taste of snow to start the winter off right. Overall, Blackbird was intrigued but left unsatisfied.

This was the real deal. And it was met with great trepidation once the initial novelty wore off. A little battle of the wills ensued later on during our walk, with Blackbird insisting that we carry her for a few blocks. We refused. She refused to move. She won.

If there’s anything she likes more than Uncle Brian, it’s watching videos of herself with Uncle Brian. Blackbird has a bit of a narcissistic streak when it comes to videos.

“Am I not fabulous in my penguins? Do you not also see my candy jamas? Are they not also fabulous?” Christmas day was spent in our newly acquired finery.

Blackbird entertains Uncle Larry with… whatever that is whipping around there.

“Don’t look at the light, honey. Stop. Please stop looking at the light… You’ll hurt your eyes. Kiddo, I need you to… OK, I’m turning this thing off.”

At least I got the shot of the face painting eventually.

This was Blackbird’s reaction to Alisa adding green food coloring to homemade play dough. For whatever reason, it blew her tiny mind.

We had a little get-together for Blackbird’s big day.

As I hoped, she was surrounded by friends and family to celebrate her second year.

Mommy made her one heck of a cake, too.

Happy second birthday, kiddo.

Not a fan of the ocean waves. Big fan of the sand.

Not a fan of the pool. Big fan of being out of the pool. (Which is odd, given that she liked her only other pool experience.)

Nearly psychotic for ice cream. Orange ice cream soda with whipped cream and a maraschino cherry, specifically.

Wiped out by a weekend vacation about as much as Alisa and I were.

Show ‘em what you got, kiddo. Nothing can stop you.

Just remember, when she comes barreling through your town…

…I swear, Alisa and I had no idea we both carried the X-gene.

One year. It’s really not that much, even in one person’s life. There are whole years in my own life from which I probably couldn’t recall one clear moment. And yet, when I look at Blackbird, I am stunned at what one year has brought.

Can it have been so little time? Can that little span of time have been so vast? Has this past year* been a good one? Is she happy? Who is she? Is this her that I’m beginning to see? Am I seeing Blackbird, or am I seeing myself through her?

Am I happy? Would the me of a year ago see this as happiness? Or am I a different person for whom the old definitions no longer apply? Has she changed me or have I changed myself for her?

After one year, I couldn’t say for sure. But this isn’t about me, so let’s look at Blackbird.

Blackbird has become such a joyous and expressive little person. She challenges my assumptions about what would make a child happy. Her sense of self is very strong, which I love. Her laugh is genuine and, while not rare, is not easily elicited. She gives amused expressions of delight and little percussive laughs easily. But a full chain of baby laughter is reserved for those times when she’s truly lost in happiness and surprise. I am addicted to it.

She has a fearless and purposeful will that fills me with pride and worry. I know that she will be stung, scraped, bruised, and burned. When she is frightened she looks at us with such needful eyes and clings with her whole body. I know that she will eventually stand in the face of these fears without me. This also fills me with pride and worry.

We celebrated her birthday surrounded by family and friends, in a small gathering that ebbed and flowed throughout the day. Blackbird was gregarious and playful with everyone. She tried her first cupcake (above) and seemed pretty happy with chocolate icing (which we failed to get good photos of, but definitely fit the classic baby-with-iced-face model). I hope she will always be surrounded by people who she can be comfortable with. I want her to see and experience friendships and family relationships with and between children and adults.

Blackbird loves to experience new things and is often a nearly un-containable squiggle of energy. But when it comes to sitting in chairs, she seems to have more patience than usual. Perhaps this will fade, but for now it gives her the bearing of a little lady. She smiles and occasionally sways back and forth in a sort of compressed rocking motion when she’s in her rocking chair.

She has a seemingly endless fascination with books and papers, which pleases me to no end. Alisa and I both want her to enjoy reading as much as we do. I indulge myself by imagining she also likes the design and the type. I choose to believe that she’s sticking her tongue out at that junk mail purposefully. Perhaps she’s disdainful of the crass commercialism? Maybe she wishes the type had been more tastefully arranged.

There is no big explanation for this one. I put a sweater on her head. She is wearing a sweater hat.

Seeing Blackbird connect with others is always fun. She responds to everyone a little differently. She and Uncle Brian, for example, focus on grooming while enjoying a beverage. This is crucial info for babies and programmers alike.

Whereas Aunt Rebecca brings a more dental focus to the evening. She loves teeth and has become interested in the concept of ‘inside’ versus ‘outside’. Blackbird, that is. Aunt Rebecca can always tell you whether something is inside or outside, which is why they let her practice law.

Blackbird loves music. She will dance at the drop of a hat. Well, at the drop of a note. I never would’ve expected that from my child, but that’s part of what makes it so fun. Here she’s probably getting her groove on to the interstitial music of NPR during meal time. She can shake it anytime, anywhere. She has been seen dancing to the Doogie Howser, M.D. theme song.

And then there’s bath time. The time when we do away with our pedestrian values and scurry, pants-less, about the bathroom.

It’s all in anticipation of the soothing tub waters, gently rippling around our poochy belly.

Then, of course, there’s the shampooing of our splendiferous mane, which Daddy sculpts into hair topiaries of majestic proportions.

And we finish up with a quick dry-off. There’s a big upside to being smaller than your towel.

Add a knit kerchief to that healthy, full-bodied hair and you’re set for a chilly winter day. This is one of Blackbird’s piercing stare moments… I can feel you judging me. Stop judging me!

Her hair had actually gotten a bit out of control. You can see it above post-pony tail. That is levels beyond leonine. That is full-on Beyond Thunderdome. It was getting tough to work around and to keep free of food, which is worse than it sounds. Imagine getting hardened food out of your own hair. Now try it with someone who has no self-control and communicates primarily by shouting.

It took a lot of nagging on my part and more than a little apprehension, but the day came.

That’s right. She got even cuter. I didn’t think it was entirely possible, but here we are. The process was unpleasant, but the first haircut was a success. Props to Alisa on that count. She is a meister with the scissors.

And so, here we find ourselves with a little person who can sit at a table in a chair and eat goldfish crackers at our local coffee shop. We look at her and wonder what she’s thinking. How much is going on that we don’t know and that she can’t yet express? When we speak, how much of our words does she understand? And what does she take from them? Has our year together already cast the dye? From this point on, is it all just learning what we mean when we act the way we do? I look at her and wonder.

But now I’m pretty certain she’s doing the same thing to me.

*13 months, now.

An important date has come and gone: Blackbird has now, officially, spent more time kicking around the outside world, learning and developing, than she did chillin’ in the womb, wedging her little butt into mom’s pelvis.

But another date, a very auspicious date, has also arrived. With little ceremony, but great fanfare, Blackbird crossed the threshold and asserted herself on the world. Her power of self-determination is now manifest. Behold! Blackbird can stand up.

And, after a moment of disorientation, she came to grips with her new condition.

And there you have it. Every day since has been part of the next phase in our lives as a family of three. I call it the “Rising Tide” phase. Like the rising flotsam and jetsam on a swell of moon-drawn sea, all of the edible, breakable, electrical and expensive items in our home are slowly increasing their distance from the floor. And with every passing day, our possessions find higher ground and recede further and further from the point where our own little tidal wave crashes on the shores of our shelves, cabinets, chairs, and windows.

Of course, with great power comes great responsibility. The ability to get one’s self into a mess does not always come with the ability to get back out.

Though, as Blackbird demonstrates, she’s up to the challenge. Look at that smile. She’s ready to take your paycheck in a game of three-card Monte.

However, that first night of standing and cruising was pretty unsteady. Fortunately, both Gram and Aunt Betsy were there to not only see Blackbird’s first steps into the world of verticality, but they also lent her a hand in finding her way around.

As a result, the last few months have been packed with activity:

Computing! The technology of tomorrow, today!

First pancakes with Uncle Brian!

Postmodern sushi deconstructionist art classes! (avocado sushi)

Out-of-control lactose binges!

Learning to feed yourself!

Baby’s first shirtless pasta fiasco!

The shocking wonders of static electricity!

Aaaaand a huge diaper butt. Blackbird wears reusable diapers, which are great, but they are huge compared to disposables. Disposables are so small in comparison, that you end up with situations like this one:

That’s right, she took off her own pants and fell asleep with her tiny heiney in the air.

And now for a fall photo shoot:

Fall has brought its own trials and discoveries. I know more than one parent that’s found bits of leaf in their little one’s diaper. But it does make for some great photos.

It was still a bit too early to trot Blackbird around in a costume or eat candy, but she got into the Halloween mood with her glow-in-the-dark pumpkins and bats onsie and her ghost booties.

Thanksgiving was a very up-and-down event for Blackbird. We discovered that she’s basically a vegetarian when she very curtly spit out her turkey. But she was a the hit of the party, so it evened out. Notice the historical bib comemmorating the crossing of the Atlantic by an enormous turkey in 1620. This turkey kept the pilgrims alive for 2 years upon its landing in Plymouth. This is why we eat turkey today at Thanksgiving.

She was big on Grandpa’s tomato rice soup, however. She even used a big-girl spoon.

Little Blackbird’s first Hanukkah was celebrated with a delicious dreidel cookie, which she proceeded to jam into her mouth in the least effective manner possible: vertically. But in the end, she prevailed. She’s also a big fan of the menorah. The candle flames mesmerize her and mommy’s singing of the blessings makes her smile.

Later in the month, we went to my parent’s house and Jocie experienced Christmas for the first time. She loved the tree and the big, colorful LED lights that my family was using for the first time. We had a bit of a moment early on when the tearing of all the paper on a large gift made her cry a bit, but soon she was tooling around the floor, playing with bows.

Later on, we ventured out into Blackbird’s first snow. My parents live north of Philly, so they have all the snow we keep dreaming of. The 4 inches or so on the ground had frozen a bit, so Blackbird could easily maneuver around. However, her first impression of the snow was a bit dampened, seeing as she was encased in the isolation chamber of a baby snowsuit. Her first few minutes were probably not that much different than those experienced by the first men on the moon.

Eventually, she struck out on her own and covered a good patch of ground. Perhaps next year she’ll be running around and picking it up.

Grandad and Blackbird warmed each other’s noses in the chilly air. All in all, a pretty good winter holiday trip.

Now that Blackbird is 11 months old, she’s more active and engaged than ever. She’s becoming a little person at such a rapid rate and I love it. She’s starting to speak in a kind of word-ish babble that resembles the phrases she hears and names of things around her. With these new abilities comes a desire to test the world around her. She’ll often sidle toward the cat and look back at us, giving a mischievous giggle before lunging for Leto’s fur. We’re already seeing the contours of life ahead, as we transition from complete and constant caretaking into a balance of guidance, discipline and observing her as she discovers the world around her.

Happy new year, Blackbird. Here’s to a wondrous and full 2009.

So, knowing this, I’d like everyone to help me out and start popularizing the following saying:

“Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on you again. Stop doing that. It’s not nice.”

Thanks in advance, everyone.

Blackbird waved yesterday. Three times. She watched us waving hello or goodbye to her, tentatively lifted her arm, then moved it back and forth with a gentle flex of her fingers. Our eighth month has been about these first steps from helpless baby into able and curious child.

And I predict she’ll be a very curious child. Blackbird has a love of paper products that tends to involve disintegration.

Blackbird loves our cat, Leto. This relationship has its ups and downs. And back and forths. Because once Blackbird gets her little digits around Leto’s fur, it either comes loose in her hands or the cat slides back and forth on the floor until she cries uncle.

This would be one of the ups. Though a mouthful of cat nose could be interpreted as a down.

When in doubt, a father always has the “crazy baby tricks” fallback to break up the monotony of rolling around on the floor trying to eat dangerous things.

Another important development this month were the pigtails, which were deployed in response to the flowing mane that Blackbird’s been cultivating for 8 months… well, longer than that, since she came out sporting about an inch of hair. Think about that for a minute: eight months of hair growth and no haircut. Alisa’s method for staving off the inevitable flailing baby haircut fiasco was a good one, as it increased the Cuteness Factor by boosting the Novelty Coefficient. Blackbird had already maxed out her Base Cuteness Level, so these techniques were necessary to prevent flagging Cuteness Values in the marketplace.

Add a baby laugh (that Mommy elicited for this photo) and you are approaching cuteness super-saturation.

Then switch it up! It’s an all-out frontal assault of brain-melting adorability and incongruously adult fashion accessories. This was taken on the campus of a large private school/church near our neighborhood. Blackbird’s not at the point where frolicking is an option, but it’s a beautiful space for her to watch the kids playing soccer and be mesmerized by the wind rustling the leaves. Notice the barrette. This is the other method for dealing with the encroaching Long Bangs Menace from the north.

Ultimately, the long brunette threat could not be ignored. Blackbird was spending more time looking at her hair than at the world around her, so it had to go. Fearing the combination of scissors and frenetic baby motion, Alisa made a quick job of it, striking directly at the problem and letting the rest go.

Now Blackbird and Mommy look even more alike.

But haircuts were not the only developments this month.

While I’d love to claim that Blackbird is playing a game of marbles here, I cannot. She’s showing off her newly developed pincer skills. She’s begun to pick up food using a very purposeful plucking with her forefinger and thumb, which is pretty entertaining to watch. Though she’s not above just snatching up a handful of Cheerios and jamming them in her mouth, all willy-nilly. However, the best part is when she grabs a little bit of food, whatever it is, and lets it get into her palm. She works it with a kind of peristaltic motion of her fingers to slowly push it back up to the very edge of her fist. At which point she jams it practically past her uvula.

Here Blackbird shows off her grab ’n‘ stuff technique out in Chestnut Hill on a sunny Saturday. She followed it up with a few bars of her favorite song “Give Me That Bottle Gawldemmit.”

And now, a brief Blackbird culinary interlude:

This month marked the end of the rice cake era. She’ll manhandle one for kicks, but she won’t tear into it with gusto like she did before. We provide the following image as one of the final examples of the Ricecake Transmogrification:

She’s a much more discerning diner now:

I’m advising her on the benefits of bacon over squash puree. I think she’s unconvinced. Just give me a few years.

Sleeping babies. Never get enough of ’em. Particularly now. Nothing sweeter than a sleeping baby.

Grandma “Bee Bee” and Grandpa revel in any opportunity to play with Blackbird, or to expand her mind. Just look at her face while Grandpa reads to her. She loves being read to. This pleases me.

::steeples fingers::

I consider music to be a solid fallback. The xylophone took some getting used to, since she’s not allowed to use the sticks (apparently called “mallets”). She did a better job of using the mallets to play the “terrified Daddy”, which involves sticking them in your mouth, then sticking them further in until Daddy hides them on a shelf.

Though I’m looking forward to the day when instead of putting things on the shelf, I’ll get to watch her choose what to take down for herself.

Month seven has been another transition month. Blackbird hasn’t hit any big milestones, but has been tiptoeing right up to the edge of them, getting incrementally closer and closer yet never reaching them (a sort of baby’s first dichotomy paradox).

This past month she’s been almost crawling all the time. Even in her sleep. Her mobility, which is still very limited, is far greater than it was last month. She can freely roll and knows to slow herself to avoid bumping her noggin, she can spin in circles on her tummy (I call it pivoting), and she can get up on all fours and rock forward and backward. However, she can’t get that one final piece: lifting her hands one at a time. This drives her crazy. In fact, she’s better at slowly skooching backward than she is at making forward progress. She occasionally does a face-plant as a result of this little hurdle (which results in virtually no fussing, to my surprise).

However, in spite of this month feeling a bit ‘in between’ more significant advances, it’s been great fun. The contours of her personality are becoming visible and our interactions have become true responsive events involving feedback from both sides affecting the other. I admit, as cute as she’s been since day one, I’ve never had this much fun before. Yesterday, I spent the morning on the floor with Blackbird and our cat, Leto. Blackbird giggled and squealed, rolling around with the cat and trying to get a handful of her tail between bouts of playing with a book. Her sense of joy and wonder at the world is so strong and energizes me every time.

For a variety of reasons, we’re a little thin on photos this month (a new job being a big reason). But worry not! I have an SLR to play with now (sadly, only on loan), so I expect the quality and quantity to spike for next month.

While utensils are still out of the picture, Blackbird can reduce a rice cake to slime in record time, and with no help from Mom and Dad. Her vigor and determination are unparalleled in this activity. She can also work her sippy cup with more skill (two hands!). Not only does this mean less frustration and less gas, it also means she doesn’t thrust the cup from her mouth and gasp, water cascading down her face, like a swimmer emerging from a clear lake.

She got the whole world in her hands. Look at that hand. It’s huge. That’s all I got on this one. I just can’t get over that huge-lookin’ hand.

Staring contest! Grandpa tries to teach Blackbird to crawl, but is overwhelmed by her charms. He also demonstrates how to take off your glasses when cross-examining a witness, like they do on TV.

“I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice chianti.” ::slurrrrrp::

Though replace “liver” with “beets,” “some fava beans” with “my hands” and “chianti” with “cup of water.”

A few weeks ago we went to Linvilla Orchards, which is a great farm where you can pick your own fruits and veggies, as well as get pumpkins and Christmas trees (for Labor Day and Earth Day, respectively). On top of this, you have hay rides and FRESHLY-MADE CIDER DOUGHNUTS.

Ahem.

They’re really good doughnuts is what I’m saying here…

Anyway…

It was probably the best trip we’ve taken with Blackbird. She loved every minute of it, particularly the hay ride, during which she didn’t have to be strapped into a car seat. But that paled in comparison to being allowed to mash her face into a freshly-picked, succulently ripe peach. Peaches aren’t only her nickname. They are also her favorite food. If I’m not fast enough while feeding Blackbird peaches, which means “not stuffing them into her face at a machine-like pace that does not allow for any time between swallowing one spoonful and receiving the next,” she will shout and slam her tiny hands down on her tray. If only the demands of all egomaniacal despots were so benign.

She’s not sure what this crazy situation is all about, but she likes it. Though she’d like it a lot more if we let her stuff her mouth with straw.

(Forgive me for this.) I call this photo, “Box of peaches.”

These are the kind of things that feel wrong on some level, but are impossible not to do. Kind of like that one time I set Blackbird gently down on the pile of clean laundry in our laundry basket (which is probably the tamest of examples). I call it “Geddes Syndrome.”

Sadly, Blackbird is not as adept at peach picking as one might hope. But her interest had probably waned by this point. She did just eat most of a peach, which when put in adult terms would be akin to eating a fruit the size of a bowling ball. I can#8217;t blame her for wanting some roughage to move something like that through.

Oh, yeah. She’s getting pretty good at that, too.