23/52.

Sometimes you feel like feeling sorry for yourself. And sometimes you don't realize how sick you were until you start to feel better. A day after my last entry I found out I had been walking around for nearly two weeks with strep. Three days after that, the pediatrician diagnosed Genevieve with yet another ear infection. The fussiness, the night-waking (both baby and mama here), suddenly made sense. The news didn't make everything immediately better (G still hasn't cleared the infection; I have scheduled an appointment with an ENT), but it it does feel better to not feel crazy. Without denying any of the feelings or frustrations I felt in the last weeks, I want to focus on something positive. And so, a list of little, wonderful things: 

Cecile running down hills. She opens her mouth and slackens her face, allowing her cheeks to respond to the weighted thwump of every step. Genevieve understanding sequences. She flicks her fingers together, for example, to try and call the dog (Bogie comes to the signal of a snap). Or, when Jon grabs his laptop bag in the morning, she blows air kisses in anticipation of his departure. Cecile 's enunciation is so good lately. She's corrected nearly all the tongue miscues (e.g., "wabbit" verses "rabbit") that defined her little voice at the beginning of the school year. She also employs lessons from the classroom at home, coaching her sister with words clapped in syllables. Genevieve loves the clapping, often joining, though offbeat. I love how Genevieve expresses humor with a wrinkle-nosed, squinty-eyed face and cackle. I appreciate my husband's patience, which extends beyond mine. He should have been a monk or holy person. His second shift is high-energy and taxing, yet he remains engaged, responsive. I love the sound of Genevieve on the go, open-faced palms smacking the hardwood floors. I love that she bear-crawls in mulch and grass, hiney high. I love that Cecile asks for Swan Lake by name and sings along (truly!) to the score. I love how the girls play together now, sometimes. Cecile stacks blocks and her sister knocks them down. They roll the ball. They play in their playhouse.

I guess sometimes in trying to be so many things and people there is failure to be even one good thing or person, and with that a failure to count the proverbial roses on the thorn bush. But oh, how sweet those roses can be.

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