Today, the Magpie is 18 months old. As of roughly one hour ago. And at that moment, she was being put to bed for the night. In the last year and half, she has gone from an utterly adorable glorified digestive tract to a smushy little wriggler to a teetering babbler and wound up at a speed demon toddler with whims, opinions and attitude. And did I mention that it’s gone by like that?
She’s picking up words – toddler words, at any rate – for things like shoes, water, milk, food, Shiba, hair, nose, dragon, bath, chair and star. But two nights in a row, roughly two weeks ago, I showed her the full moon. She was fairly non plussed at the time. But, for every night – and they’ve all been cloudy – since then, she has been asking for the moon. Going to the door, reaching up to the sky and asking for the moon. And now that the clouds have parted, the moon is new. Non existent. The only thing my baby wants is the moon, damn it, and I can’t even produce that. Something that is somewhere in the sky almost every night, what with planetary rotations and physics and all that.
So, we go out and look up. At the rain, at the clouds, at streetlights and passing aircraft. And we say moon. And I have to say that the moon said bye bye, but she doesn’t buy it. She knows the moon is out there; distractions don’t work. Because now that she’s 18 months old and has whims, opinions and attitude, it seems that they are all centered on the night sky – weather and new moons be damned!