Hovering

You know those horrible parents who pace the sidelines of their kid's soccer field, yelling obscenities to the volunteer umpires and "keep your eye on the ball!" to their four year old, who is happily picking dandelions in the goal box? I'm worried that I might become one of them.

Baby C has a bouncy chair, over which arches a light display with hanging toys. When the baby hits a hanging toy, lights flash and music plays. Baby C is just starting to pick up on this - or, at least, her flailing arms sometimes hit a toy and she smiles and coos when the lights come on. This is pretty heady stuff to New Mommy--after all, three weeks ago, she'd just lay there unblinking. So, I sit next to the bouncy chair, willing her to hit the dangling parrot or chimpanzee. Sometimes she makes contact with all the force of a feather falling, and the lights don't come on. I roll my eyes, wondering aloud why they (and don't ask me who "they" are) just can't give it to her. "I mean, c'mon. She hit the parrot, anyone can see that."

It's a slippery slope from the side of the bouncy chair to the side of the soccer field, but I hope to get a grip before she toddles through her first game. I suppose those crazed parents on the sidelines started in the same place, though: thrilled by the idea that their child is learning and growing, and wanting somehow to be part of every amazing minute.