AUTHOR: Sheri Lynch TITLE: Go Tiny, Go! DATE: 6/29/2004 05:12:00 PM ----- BODY:

Caramia is a climber. Right now she's sporting a little shiner -- the result of an unsuccessful attempt at scaling a barstool in the kitchen. She practically sprints up the stairs, often pausing mid-climb to turn and wave. Just last night, she knocked all of the stuffed animals off of a low set of shelves and clambered nearly to the top. She's not walking yet, so you'd think we'd be able to keep up with her. But she crawls so incredibly fast -- dare to blink and she's inside a cupboard, or the dishwasher, or the dog's water bowl. One of her favorite destinations is the bathroom, where she likes to yank at the cap that conceals the bolt holding the toilet to the floor. Naturally, this nasty, revolting object is immediately licked and gnawed on. I'm honestly unable to come up with anything more disgusting in our home that she might choose to chew. What is it with babies and their unerring instinct to put the most awful things into their mouths? Caramia, or Tiny, which is what we call her, has round, blue eyes, alert with curiosity and interest. She is endlessly fascinated with her feet and loves to grab and munch on them. She sucks her thumb when she's sleepy, something she's done since the day she was born. She likes to clap her hands, and wave bye-bye. She snorts when she laughs, which is often, and her smile is an eye-crinkling, gap-toothed grin. She likes to cuddle and snuggle. Sometimes, when we are playing together on the floor, Tiny will scoot over to simply lay her head upon my leg. Other times she'll grab my shirt, pull herself to a standing position, then sink into my chest and waiting arms. Though full of sparkle and mischief, she is a gentle little soul. Until you cross her. Then she'll shake her miniature fists and bellow. Just like her mommy. Before Caramia was born I worried about the silliest things. Would the novelty of caring for an infant be replaced by the weary knowledge of the many tired nights and days to come? Would I have a favorite child in my heart, even if I never admitted it? I should have been worrying instead about the many creative and terrifying ways that Olivia would come up with to play with her baby sister. And frankly, although it never occurred to me to wonder if my husband and I would ever again have an uninterrupted conversation, it should have. With a three year-old chattering non-stop, and an eleven month old literally trying to climb the walls, we're able to communicate only in shorthand now. "Door! Potty! Dog food!" What would sound to a stranger like insane hollering makes perfect sense to us. With Tiny's first birthday just a few weeks away, I'm struggling with mixed feelings. She is still my baby now, still nursing, still so small and dependent. Holding her in my lap I try to imagine how she must have fit inside my body -- the miracle of her arrival hasn't yet dimmed. I love her rounded plumpness, the rolls of fat at her wrists and thighs, the almost cartoon-like fleshiness of her hands and feet. I know now how swiftly she'll transform from a baby into a child, and I dread it even as I celebrate every new milestone. Very soon she'll be able -- and anxious -- to do more things for herself. She's already refusing anything that looks like baby food, insisting instead on sampling everything on our plates. She can drink out of a cup, though not yet without our help. She also wants to nurse much less frequently, a sign that we're entering the long, slow process of weaning. Every day, in many small ways, she's becoming more independent. This is thrilling, of course. I want her to grow up, but I also want her to remain my infant forever. I want a little more freedom, yet I want to always have a baby in the house. Last night I ran a warm bubble bath for Olivia, dropping in the half dozen rubber ducks, handful of toy reptiles, inflatable sailboat, and big plastic cup that are her usual tub-time companions. Olivia climbed in. "How about Tiny?" she inquired. "I think Tiny wants to take a bath with me. That would be a good idea." Tiny did seem interested, balancing on tiptoes to swipe at the clouds of foam surrounding her sister. I plopped her into the water, then stood back to watch. It was the first time I'd ever allowed my two girls in the bath alone, without me floating between them. How had Tiny possibly gotten big enough to do this? She babbled and squealed, patiently enduring Olivia's enthusiastic attempts to scrub her tummy and back with a washcloth and a red rubber frog. The two laughed and played and ate bubbles while Mark and I watched, holding their towels and clean pajamas. It was past bedtime, but they were having such fun that we let them splash till their fingers were puckered and the water had cooled. Sometimes you get exactly what you've always longed for, but in ways you never imagined. After a lifetime spent wishing for a sister, I was blessed with daughters of my very own. It still feels as though I've won the lottery. I can't wait to see what secrets they'll share, what battles they'll fight. Olivia is such an intense, almost overwhelming child -- will Caramia grow up in her shadow? Or will Caramia -whose relentless persistence to get exactly what she wants already has us scrambling to close doors, grab breakables, and defend the dog - mow down whatever obstacles Olivia plants in her way? Headstrong, wild, goofy -- our baby girls are everything we could have wished for. Everything. And when Caramia hurls herself around the house, tearing books off the shelves, leaves off the plants, and toys out of the box, we all clap and cheer her on. Olivia is the most excited, stamping her feet and shouting, "Go, Tiny, go!" And I clap too. But as Caramia squirms out of my arms what I'm really thinking is, stay tiny. Stay.

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