On Training a Parent

She is so adorable....starting at her perfect little toes, upward to her pudgy sunny-side-up belly to her slightly crossed blue eyes and topped with her fuzzy little head, she draws you in.  And although her basic repertoire consists predictably of eating 10-12 meals a day before batting at a few overpriced toys, then drifting into a series of luxurious, worry-free power naps, she is endlessly fascinating.  Yes, my siamese cat is really something. 

Who did you think I was talking about?

The parallel between the life of my baby and the life of my cat is eerie.  Besides the apparent coordination in the scheduling of their days, they are both very comfortable in their perceived roles as the idle rich.  Their Tuesdays are no different than their Saturdays.  The state of the economy, the weather on the other side of the window pane, and the fate of late night talk show hosts have no place in their daily paradigm.

Despite the outward appearance that they could be twins separated at birth, one major difference is that there are no expectations placed upon Messy Kitty (who lives up to her name on a regular basis).  Izzy, on the other hand, is under a level of scrutiny usually reserved for an airline passenger with an "I *heart* al qaeda" tattoo.  Every little gurgle, squeak, and grunt is interpreted as having great meaning, perhaps riveling the infant babblings of Shakespeare.   And the camera records each thoughtful (Einstein-esque?) expression that crosses her face. I'm almost certain that her notably long fingers will eventually bridge two octaves on the piano (wasn't that also true of Van Cliburn?)  And though I know that this behavior is lunacy, I  just. can't. stop.

But back to this baby-cat connection.  I think there is a lesson in this observation.  A few years ago, I brought home a precocious 12-week-old kitten, housed and fed her, loved her, and made her feel welcome in our happy but somewhat dysfunctional family.  I simply allowed her catness to slowly unfold instead of being molded into my idea of the kind of cat I wanted her to be (you know, the no-shed, always hits the catbox, willing to eat off-brand food kind of cat we all dream of). 

I think that some of this loving simplicity may be as good for Izzy as it has been for Messy Kitty. While I don't intend to embrace a benign neglect sort of parenting style, I do think that I will put the camera down, talk a little more baby talk, and let myself be amazed by my daughter.  Good kiddy.