Maybe this is something I should be embarrassed to admit, but Before Dory, Matthew and I didn't always eat dinner at the table. He tends to work late and some nights we would chat, while I cooked, and then one of us (him, I'm sure) would casually mention, "Hey football/House/The Office is on..." And the other one (him again, no doubt- though that just doesn't make sense, does it?) would perk up and casually agree, that might be nice just to kick back, be on our comfy sofa, have a few laughs...
Not these days. Something's on, but it's not the inane ramblings of Michael Scott or the caustic witticisms of Greg House. Tonight we sat down to our tacos and turned our attention to the most interesting show I've seen lately...
...Dory attempting to grab the stuffed animal hanging from her Baby Papisan.
I couldn't tell you what kind of creature this fella is- some sort of rabbit/bear hybrid. He hangs over her head, not doing much, just staring, staring, staring in that mocking, slightly spooky way all the animals on these children's seats, swings, and chairs seem to have (or maybe that's just my interpretation). Clearly he's trying to drive her crazy with his just-out-of-reach style. But our girl's got her sights set and any day now she's going to catch him and show him who's boss.
Until that day, she swats, with the force of two tiny, but ever-growing baby arms, in an unsynchronized but totally charming rhythm. And Matthew and I watch. Instead of cheering, "Go, go, go- touchdown!" we now shout (quietly), "Ooo, get him, get him, almost- open your hand- oooohhh. So close."
She's not interested in us. Dory, with the sort of fixed attention demonstrated on the face of Michael Phelps before that eighth swim or Shawn Johnson before she tackled the balance beam, raises her arms, swats... swings... and sometimes- once in a mealtime- catches the tag.