We’ve been all over the city this week, starting our hunt for a new place to call home. I’ve been grumpy, very grumpy about this. It’s a long story, but I love our current space, small as it is and would love to stay. Our landlady's son and new wife and baby are going to be moving in though. They're lovely, but I can't help but wish we could just pitch a tent in our yard. I know change is hard for all of us, and I know this change might end up being a good thing, something I look back on as a great fork in the road. But having to move with a baby has just been an overwhelming idea. Trying to envision our life anew in every intriguing ad on craigslist is exhausting. And I get tired of trying to sell ourselves as trustworthy folks over and over again (not to mention our dog). But I tell you, everywhere we go Lily’s smile breaks the tension and changes the mood. I can’t stay forlorn watching building managers and leasing agents grinning back at her. Her joie de vivre is catching.
We ran into one of our favorite neighbors in the park the other day. He's someone with a lot of character--a long, braided goatee, a penchant for riding his skateboard while one of the dogs he walks pulls him down the sidewalk, and a deep appreciation for cannabis. As we walked with him, he told me his theory on why babies can’t talk. “They would blow our minds if they could talk,” he said. “They’re so pure, so close to the source of it all. We wouldn’t know how to process what they tell us.” (Okay, so he might have used slightly more colorful language to express just how hard it would be for us to process these insights....)
I like that idea. I like thinking that what Lily remembers that we no longer do is what allows her to bless us with these amazing smiles.