baby jake speaks. his first word, appropriately, perhaps even prophetically, is BALL. we know he means BALL because he crawls after his big green one, yelling BAWW BAWW. he also plays catch, rolling the ball back and forth to a partner with a deep chuckle and an expression of self-satisfied glee.
i can do this, he seems to say. look at me, i can do this.
i am always careful to say "yes, you can...you can do this"...and then i must confess i send him an image of a baseball stadium on a sunny summer day, surrounded by cheering crowds and the smell of cracker jack, and an announcer in the background booming ... NOW PITCHING FOR THE NEW YORK YANKEES... BABY JAKE PERCIVAL...
and the crowd cheers, while baby jake giggles.
i am thrilled to report that my olive oil-impatiens-plantago creation, coupled with the salt soaks, seems to have completely cured my itchy, irritated eyelids. it also had such an efficacious effect on the rash on baby jake's face, that katie called me last night to find out what i had used.
what did you do to jake, mom? she asked.
now, considering that katie is an Investigator for DCF, this question coming from her has a darkly sinister ring that makes even my well-intentioned grandmotherly heart quail. i mentally reviewed his day - catch in the morning, long delicious naps, colorful foods. he did have a poopy diaper when i brought him back, but that was because he did that in the car.
about what? i asked cautiously. sometimes katie forgets she is not my social worker.
his rash... it's almost gone. he's had that for months. nothing i've tried worked. what did YOU do?
just a little green magic, honey, i said. a little olive oil, a lot of love. a few weeds.
weeds?! squeaked katie. you put weeds on jake's face?
clean ones, i assured her. field-grown.
i could hear her rolling her eyes as she hung up with a groan.
and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.