Polka

Michael wants to call her piglet because she makes these little piglet noises. It's cute now, but somehow it doesn't seem like a good deal. A girl, in the American culture, named piglet? Surely she'd have an eating disorder by age 9. Today I've been calling her polka dot.

She gets fussy once or twice a day, but is quieted if I put her in the Baby Bjorn, a type of sling that attaches her to the front of me. She doesn't immediately fall asleep, but first just looks around for awhile, like she wonders at life from this different vantage point. Her eyes are wide open while I sweep the floor, empty the dishwasher, do the laundry, or whatever. Then eventually I look down and she's out. It's pretty cute.