It is like she was drawn using the digital animation applied to baby characters in kids films to increase their cuteness. Her limbs are perfectly formed, plump and marshmallow soft. Still so smooth and hairless they have a glow to their surface when she is touched by the sun or light. Her arms crease in one hundred different places, her calves are short subtle and curve like a banana, her thighs are pear-shaped and can no longer fit in ones closed hand due to their circumference and volume.
Her cheeks are perfect nectarines, slightly drooping over her tiny dimpled chin due to their voluptuousness. Her eyes, a shade I can only describe as a translucent blue, are simply put enchanting. Also due to a slight eye muscle problem they tend to roll in towards each other when she focusses on something, so she appears slightly cross-eyed. To everyone who meets her this only makes those blue eyes more appealing, as this feature heightens their surreal cartoon-like quality.
When she smiles you can't help but coo over her. Her eyes wrinkle up, creased by the sudden upwards motion of her bouncing cheeks, and her gummy toothless mouth gapes open, daring you not to smile back. When we are out with her in the pram people cannot help but be drawn to her, so much so I joke about feeling famous by association. Little girls, mothers, elderly folk, even the toughest of young men, cannot stop themselves from starring at her as we go past. They nudge their companions or partners and gesture to her, saying 'awww, look at that little girl!' Sometimes they come up to us or stop us on our journey to say hello and admire her for just a few moments. They instinctively reach out to touch a bare foot or her open palm, wanting to feel for themselves her incredible supple softness. She is cuteness embodied and those who are drawn to her are always rewarded with a glorious smile. Maybe even a gleeful gurgle or a vigorous kick of the legs.
But she is also bashful, as if aware of her appeal. When she sees a new face she takes a moment to focus on their features with her weak eyes. Once the face has been identified as 'unknown' she will flash a dazzling smile, but then quickly turn her face to her mothers chest, not with fear but something alike a coy shyness. This never fails to irrevocably charm her new friends.
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She falls asleep best when in my arms against my chest moving up and down as I take breaths to sing to her. Cole Porter, religious hymns, Operas and Ella Fitzgerald are our favourites. Once she has fallen asleep I try to transfer her to the pram, but she wakes up immediately howling with anger as if she has caught me attempting to dupe her. I pick her up again and her stubby but petite finger slips around my own index digit as she closes her eyes and falls asleep, as if to say 'don't you dare put me down in my pram. I am staying here thank you very much.' Her head is tucked perfectly under my chin, her face nestled against my collar bone. My nose gently grazes the fuzz on her minute skull, golden at the base and almost white at the ends. She is heavy but comfortably so. She not only looks healthy, but feels healthy.
On a particularly hot day I walk her out of the house and go next door to the family Chapel to find some fresh air. The chapel is the coolest place perhaps in the whole Villa. Often I have walked in to find Rockie the Labrador belly flopped on the Marble floor, tongue lolloping from his mouth desperately trying to find a breeze. My voice echoes in the cavernous space of the Church, and she is as soothed as I am, by the lulling (though far from perfect) notes issuing from my throat. We are disturbed only by a cleaning lady who has come in to replace the dead flowers on the Torrigiani family tombs with fresh ones. She is naturally in awe of the little baby sleeping so peacefully in my arms, admires her for a time and allows me to continue singing.
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This little girl lives in a beautiful property, in a house that is more than 100 years old. Every day she goes for a walk in the pram with her Mother and sister around the magnificent Baroque Villa that belongs to her family. One day, if all goes well, her father will become a Prince, her mother a Princess. One day the Villa may even be her's. Every day she grows up surrounded by fountains, beautiful Woods, rose filled gardens and Baroque sculptures. She takes naps in the pram shaded by lemon and grapefruit trees, guarded by a devoted huge white shepherd dog, who lies at her feet, sleeping with one eye open. She has a loving 2 year old big sister who will clamber up onto her pram to be with her, who calls her 'little one' in Italian or 'daaaaarling', who murmurs in her ear and dots her face with whispy kisses. A big sister who talks about her constantly, who never lets anyone forget her existence, her needs, her cuteness and beauty.
She has a whole cupboard draw to herself, packed with beautiful linen dresses and pant suits.Often with matching baby booties and lace socks. Floral prints, pale pinks, creamy whites, and tomato reds are her best colours. Every day she wears something new and beautiful, not out of her mother's extravagance but because family friends have showered her in hand-me-downs and these friends have good taste.
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When this little girls is upset it is only for three different reasons: she has a dirty nappy, she is hungry, she wants to be held. Once you have identified which of those reasons is the cause for her distress and helped her achieve what she needs she just smiles, and smiles and smiles. When she does not have a cause for want she is a forever happy baby, as if she is permanently delighted by life itself.
She is also a talkative baby. When she is happy we are treated to her cooing, gurgling, giggling and humming . We love trying to make her laugh because every giggle of her's is priceless. Her laughter sends chills up our spines and fills us with joy. To hear something so pure, innocent and sincere from a human still unaware of cynicism touches us immensely. So we raise her above our heads so she feels like she is flying, we jiggle her up and down on our knees, pull silly faces even in public and make ridiculous sounds. Nothing we do is degrading. Any form of silliness is worth even the shortest snorts of amusement.
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She has a loving grandfather. She often sits in the crook of his arm in the evening after dinner and watches the FIFA world cup with him. She sits content and quiet, inspecting her hands for the one-hundredth time, marvelling at her own little fingers, the way she can flex and move them. Her grandfather chortles at some incident he has just seen on the screen. She is curious and tilts back so she can look at his face. She stares at him for a long time, then raises one chubby little arm to gently touch his white bead with her fingertips. He looks down and smiles at her. She looks at him for a few moments longer, returns a glowing smile, then relaxes back into the crook of his arm. She holds his finger protectively in her grasp.
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We have just come back from dinner at a friend's house. All six of us are squeezed into the 5 seater car. My host, being a very petite man is seated to everyone's amusement on his wife's lap in the front passeger seat. The grandfather is driving, and I am seated in between the two girls in the back. We all chat during the journey about the party, what was said, what we ate. We are nearly back when I look down at the baby to my left. I struggle to hold back a snort of laughter. From her baby capsule she is starring up at me with a deeply serious interrogative look. Usually only her mother sits next to her in the car and she has noticed this change in the proceedings. I bend my head down and nuzzle her little up-turned nose to reassure her but the look persists. She seems to say 'Are you sure you have the correct qualifications for this position?'
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Sometimes I wonder the same question too. When children are at this age sometimes you can find yourself temporarily paralysed with the gravity of their fragility. The other day I was holding her in my arms when suddenly I almost stopped breathing. I looked down at her and fear combined with tenderness into a heart-wrenching panic...all I could think was 'OMG WHAT IF I DROPPED HER. I WOULD DIE.'
All I know after being an au pair for the last 6 months is that all children are precious and irreplacable. Although this is the cause of much anxiety it is also exactly why I am au pairing in the first place: because children are miraculous.
Miranda, this was a very sweet post. You describe every gesture and feature so well I feel like I'm there with you. Now if only I could just squish those cut chubby cheeks...
ReplyDeleteThanks Miriam!!! Cannot wait to see you when I return! x
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