misplaced mama

Sula Pearl loves the water. Born floating up to my chest in a warm bath, she’s my salt-scented, olive skinned, copper haired, earthen steel- eyed waterbaby. I guess I always knew that Pearl was the name she wanted even before I knew she slept in my belly. A gem from the sea: round, luminous, sensual, pure, moonly and the gateway to heaven. During pregnancy I dreamt of rolling really slowly down hills of sand and finding jewels in all shades under my hands as the ocean waves pulled me closer and closer inside. My pearl. She lives for the water.

We hiked her and her sister down to Manatija Hot Springs in Ojai California, stripped our clothes off and soaked. Sula stared down at her mirror image in the ripply spring surface for a few minutes. She wanted to swim. Float. Dunk. Splash. Gulp. Kick. The springs were totally natural, no concrete, pure dirt bottom and rock walled. The water was bath temperature. A raging river flowed next to us. The sun pounded down. White sage and anise rode the wind and filled the air with that wild southern California smell, the one I will always have a love affair with.

“This is where you were born,” I told her as I whirled her ’round and ’round. We’d both dipped the fronts of our faces under the water and blew bubbles coming up with our lashes dripping. She roared out loud a high pitched laugh. She is the only person I have heard make a sound that is both a deep, demanding roar and a soft high bell. “Do you remember the water my pearly girl?

Sula loves the water.

She also loves her sister so much. She screams until Mia is in her view.

She waves bye-bye. Sort of.

She talks to me with loving words like BAAAAAAAAAA BAAAAAAAA, MAAAAAAAAA MAAAAAAAA, Boo, Puh Puh,

She loves sticking her tongue out at me.

She crawls on her right side only, lounging like cleopatra and the sliding like a sneak.

He favorite yoga poses are Dead Bug (or Happy Baby) and Cobra. SHe knows how to spread her fingers and gently grip ground.

She likes to scratch at my face until it looks like I have patches of acne.

She pulls my hair until I scream.

My boobs have tiny baby fingernail size cuts and small hickies on them from “playing” while she nurses. She leaves marks making me look like I have quite the naughty sex-life. I don’t by the way.

She refuses to sit up. But she loves to stand and can almost balance all by herself for a second or two. Practicing this passes the time delightfully while entertaining Mia.

She is still wildly reactive to any dairy that I eat. I indulged in some milky cow treats this week and her poo turned day-glo green and a god-awful rash sprinkled her entire face within 2 feedings. I am guilt-ridden.

She hates riding in cars at night.

She does not nap but for 1/2 hours at a time (and I am being nice here) but sleeps at least 4 hours through the night, I think. I have pretty much perfected not waking up when she helps herself to my food service. She may nurse all night. Who knows.

She dances, kicking her legs and waving her arms as soon at the needle hits the record.

She has not really had solid foods, unless you count the little piece of paper she tore out of Don’t Hop On Pop and sucked down to nothing. I only left the room for a minute, Mom, I swear.

She is a mix of me, my 2 borthers, my sister, my neice, my cousin, my aunt, my grandpa and a small bear.

She is definatlely part elf. She has my ears.

I could eat her.