patterns of home and child

I search for patterns, trying to learn Octavia. I want to know what makes her feel good, what makes her feel safe, what I can do to see her astonishing, sweet smile again.

At dusk she's often upset--not tired or hungry or in need of a change, just upset. And I carry her against my chest or with her head resting on my shoulder and walk back and forth in our living room from the wall of books to the kitchen. Back and forth until at last she settles, as if she can feel the sun setting.

I search for patterns but can't really find any. She is so young and quick to change. Each day brings new expressions, new sounds. Yesterday her first real laugh! Alisabeth made silly faces and noises at Tavi while she lay on our couch, and up, like a spring, her bubbling laugh. We recorded it.

My wife Alisabeth lifts her out of her electric swing (her nest) and walks slow and smiling in to bed. I understand her smile. It's a new one that means "look at this sleeping beauty in my arms."

We've spent the evening sitting next to each other on the couch, each with a laptop. I've found a trove of eighties tunes, and Alisabeth reads blogs by photographers and artists.

She asks me to put my hand on her to keep her warm. I look at her profile, elegant, awake, beautiful, and put my hand on her neck. I am blessed.