The Puddle Maker

My Daughter: Tallulah Cadence McDevitt, AKA: The Puddler.
Whomsoever falls beneath her gaze instantly becomes transmogrified into a puddle.

I have been puddled several times already today. While working, Felicity emailed me the Puddler's face via my phone. Several of my co-workers were also puddled. My mom is puddled. As is dad, cousins, aunts, grandmothers...all shall fall.

I am sure there will be moments when the puddling will cease, perhaps temporarily. Maybe there will be a gawky, glasses and braces phase, or a ranting imperious teen reign. I believe, in spite of the potential neutralization of these powers, this girl will know full well her abilities and may, in fact, use them for good. May, being the key word. Much of those potentials lie with our parenting and adequate bribery.

Tallulah has sounded her first two words. The first was "Na-na" for "I'd like mother to get in here and soothe me with some milk." The second, "Dadadadadada" was a surrealist interpretation of a Duchamp/Arp performance from Zurich, circa 1916, entitled "That tall funny looking clown guy who Mommy hangs with." Though the added spit up landing upon the audience was all original material.

She repeats these savory words, with Cummings-like poetry sounds, onomatopoetic pops and gurgles added like red spices in a green soup. It is delicious. I am never full, always satisfied, and ready for another bowl.

Lula eats rice cereal, and now a lovely sweet potato goulash Felicity creates with mother's milk and only the choicest Garnet yams. I returned from work and fed little Lula. As we sign the ASL for "eat" and "more" she mostly watches the spoon. She guides my hand with hers towards her little baby bird mouth as if to say, "this is how you do it, dadadadadadada..." I savor each mouthful of surreal.