Day 249 – February 10, 2012 – Baby in the Mirror…

Number of days in Amsterdam – 249

Number of days without a bike theft – 245

Days since it last rained – 7

There is this phenomena in folklore known as the witching hour. Traditionally, it’s the time when the denizens of the spirit world are active. It’s when the barrier between our world and theirs is at its thinnest. It’s the time when magic – dark magic – is at its most powerful.

In the world of folklore, the witching hour happens sometime after midnight.

In our world, the witching hour happens between noon and one.

This is when the baby, with a full belly and a dry diaper, reaches the point of exhaustion, the point where an afternoon nap would solve all of her woes and worries, and the time when she wants absolutely nothing to do with said nap.

So, like black magic reaching its full power in the wee hours when all that is good and holy is fast asleep, this is the hour when the anger and wrath of the Kitten reaches its full potential.

This is the time of the full-blown meltdown.

I still have not found a way to prevent the meltdown, and it can’t be stopped. The only hope is to contain it and to minimize its damage.

So we dance, and we sing and we talk, but the best way to help stem the meltdown of the witching hour is to visit that mysterious being known only as the baby in the mirror.

The baby in the mirror is magic baby that the Kitten talks to, smiles at and shares shy glances with. She can always elicit a smile from a fussy baby, even if it’s just to make a show of it – one doesn’t want the mirror baby to see one crying, does one?

Today, though, was kind of heartbreaking.

The Kitten has been discovering her hands. When she’s lying on her back, her hands seek each other out, when she’s being fed, they grab your hands. They grip toys and are on their way to becoming useful tools and something to suck on, rather than just the flailing distractions they had been.

And today, they reached for baby in the mirror.

And encountered cold, hard glass.

And for a moment, it seemed like Kitten’s world turned upside down.

She looked at me, shocked at first, and then started crying inconsolably.

I felt awful. Like I had wrecked part of her faith.

Like I had been responsible for just taking what she had known to be true, a part of her existence, and just dumped it all out in front of her.

I felt like it was my fault that she knows the baby in the mirror isn’t there.

Or even worse, that baby in the mirror is still there, but is unattainable.

Perhaps I project too much, but it was moment where I felt like a bad daddy.

I don’t want to disappoint her, or upset her. Or let things disappoint her or upset her.

And yet, here I stood idly by while baby in the mirror did.

It’s not a good feeling, seeing your little one upset by something she doesn’t understand. You do your best to make her feel safe and loved, but then things happen that you can’t think to prepare for – like when the baking sheets fell out of the cupboard with a terrifying crash, or when she reaches for baby in the mirror. It’s the sort of thing I want to protect her from. I understand I won’t always be able to…

I will try though.