Mango is freaking me out a little.
A few months ago, in that irritating way that first time expectant fathers are wont to do, I put together some playlists for her listening pleasure. Every now and again ET would place the headphones on her belly and let the music flow, usually to little or no reaction.
The sole exception being when Iron & Wine began to play, she would kick up a storm, leaving us curious as to whether they were thrusts of approval or disgust.
A couple of days ago, while she was screaming delightfully like a castrated demonic outcast from the depths of Inferno, I clicked on iTunes with no little hint of desperation. Iron & Wine started to play and the screaming stopped. She sighed, rolled her eyes, held her own hands in front of her soft chin, and dozed into a deep sleep. We have repeated this twice since then and she has done exactly the same.
Our daughter is a 13 day old hippy.
Last night, in the small hours, our 8lb bundle of happiness displayed her love of life in her favourite way once again, screaming so loud and fierce that the bats of hell were packing overnight bags and booking Ryanair flights to some airport 150 miles South East of Purtagorio.
Not being in a position to play music, and with her bottle not yet cooled, I sang. I sang Iron & Wine songs. She stopped screaming, sighed, rolled her eyes, held her own hands in front of her soft chin, and dozed into a deep sleep.
This little quirk we’ve found is many things; cute, useful, and a little freaky, but most of all it’s what is going to be the death of me.
She does these things and it physically tugs on tendons somewhere inside my chest. I don’t know how or why, but each time it’s a little more and I know I’m slipping a little further. I knew I could expect something along these lines but I never thought I would end up fearing every time she makes one of her little faces, or pulls an expression, or sighs and dozes off to sleep.
She is kryptonite, she is Achilles’ heel, and she produces love and the fear thereof in equal measure in me.
I’ve developed Stockholm syndrome, being held hostage in Paradiso by a 13 day old hippy.