Four Weeks

For the most part, Emerson’s got one mode of self expression: Eyes tightly shut and bulging from their sockets, mouth wide open and wailing. There are some more gratifying moments, though. It happens every once in a while. Lying in my arms, eyes open, Emmy will raise her head slightly and gaze at me as if she has something to say. Sometimes I see a hint of a smile in the corners of her mouth, maybe a little joyful twinkle in her eyes. Other times, her mouth is slightly open and round, with those same bright brown eyes open in wonder. Sometimes her brow will raise, as if she were questioning my latest gesture; other times it will furrow, as if deep in thought or (more likely) disturbed by something. In these rare moments, slowly becoming more common, I see flashes of the real Emerson. There are the faint clicks of firing neurons, connections being made, the foundations of her humanity being laid one experience at a time. I’m drawn to her in those moments, the handful of times where I feel like I’m really making an impact in her short and precious life. I look forward to the days when she’s hit that critical intellectual mass; when I’ll learn more about her personality, satisfy and stoke her intellect and sense of wonder. Then again, when the time comes, I’m sure I’ll look back and wonder how it happened so quickly.

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