Lollipops are dandy

SWEET DREAMS

 

The old fashioned wooden cradle rocks slowly, evenly. Snookums sucks her thumb. Amethyst eyes are closed but I know she is dreaming as rapid eye movements contort her face. A little whimper, a sigh, make me bend over, kiss her cheek, play with her tiny fingers. Stillness, calm return. I sit entranced by the gift Mike and I have been given. For a brief moment I see again our Lonnie's white coffin being lowered into a grave big enough for me both of us. It's a vision that just won't die.

 

Snookie blows tiny bubbles. I wipe them off and rub the barely wet Kleenex over my cheek. It feels like creamy body lotion. My new alarm wrist watch with diamond chips around its face buzzes for exactly two seconds. I come back to reality, whisper in Snookum's ear, 'Stay where you are, Sweetie, Mommy will be right back with your breakfast.' Mike has turned the heat to 78, just enough to warm the cool night air, make our daughter comfortable. Mike has the coffee brewing, English muffins ready to toast. A jar of raspberry preserves , with knife, awaits me. We sit and talk about our blessing, unable to mention our loss.

 

'Wah, wah!', Snookums is awake, hungry, wailing, wanting her Mommy. A quick kiss to Mike, a happy wave out the front window, and I hurry to my daughter. Do my eyes deceive me? She has already rolled over on her back. Tiny booted feet kick towards the ceiling. Her wet Pampers need attention before I give her the warmed bottle of formula that will disappear quickly. Something is amiss. Baby spits up, won't drink her milk. Worries stab my heart. I carry her, pace with her, pat her back to get out a deep burp. It doesn't work. Soft songs don't appease her. Am I going nuts? I talk to her as if she were a grown up. 'Want to go downstairs, Honey? We'll sit in the sunny kitchen where you'll be warm and cozy and drink your milk.' It can't be my singing but something makes her smile, a big real smile. Her amethyst eyes open wide, fasten on the sun shining thru the red raspberry jam jar. I am sure a tiny dab won't hurt her, put it on my pinkie and let her lick it off. If she had teeth, she would have bitten my finger off. A strange rumble comes from her belly. It sounds like, 'mmmmore, mmmmmore.' Baby talk? Is she telling me something? I don't know. Her legs kick the side of the table. Her nose wrinkles up like a miniature Venetian blind as her stomach says 'mmmmmmore' again.  'One more tiny taste, Honey Bunny.' A speck of a dab goes on her silver baby spoon. A pink tongue licks it clean. 'No more, all gone,' I tell her. 'Drink your milk and maybe I'll give you one more lick.  Is it possible she understands me? Her little arm reaches for her bottle. She sucks it until it's empty. A burp and a cry escape as one.

 

Mike calls me at noon and I gush about the exciting news.'Snookums turned over on he back all by herself. She's a genius.' He laughs about the raspberry jam and warns me not to give her any more. She might get diabetes. It's my turn to laugh. 'Mike, you know darn well one doesn't get diabetes from eating sweets.' We must wait for evening and so we send phone kisses over the wires.

 

Snookums is good all day, takes a long nap while I watch 3 soaps. At two I hear her cry, turn off the t.v. and get her orange juice ready. As soon as I lift her out of her cradle, I notice something odd on her blanket. It looks like a medium sized dab of whipped cream but can't be. Neither is it spit up cheese. I smell it and decide it is whipped cream. 'Snookums,' I ask. 'Where did this come from? Who brought it into your room?' Her crying is loud enough to wake the dead. I stop asking questions she isn't going to answer. Her sheet needs changing so I put her  on my bed for and watch her closely. The crying gets louder. Her adorable pink lips open wide. She howls. I scream, 'What's in your mouth? Let me see!' I hold her head still and get two fingers inside. There is definitely something way in the back.Before she can swallow it, I get hold and pull it out. It can't be, but it is shaped like a tooth, a red sugary tooth. I put it on  a piece of aluminum foil to show Mike when he comes home. He is as baffled as I am. We take it to the baby's pediatrician who doesn't know either.

 

Snookums becomes Shelley, grows up fast, goes to school, gets married, gets fatter and fatter. We feel sure she must have simply been born with a real sweet tooth. She never gets diabetes.