a) she's enjoying hanging out on the feral side of life, decimating the local rodents
b) she's a teenage runaway who has escaped her house's oppressive regime of not being allowed to sleep in the baby's crib
c) she's vacationing in the homes of people who maybe give her tastier food treats and more attention and all the baby paraphenalia she can handle
d) she's lost and confused
e) she has forgotten where we live
Really considering it is Zelda - the Bai Ling of the feline world- it could be any of those theories. Or all of the above. But in either case, I feel a termendous sense of relief because she's alive and seems to be looking OK.
Having gratified us with a week of restful nights the child spent the past few days up to his old tricks of not-sleeping (waking up every few hours to be fractious and compel a parent to stroke his face and play sleepy hunt-a-dummy until he settles back to sleep until the next lost-dummy-oh-noes-oh-noes incident) and not-pooing. Then last night he slept more or less from midnight until 8am with minimal dummy-hunting and encouragement, woke up to feed, kick around, laugh at his reflection in the mirror and then he dropped off for another sleep where he has remained for the last 1.5 hours. This is glorious but also mildly worrying because the children, they are crazy, and I hang on to the semblance of routine and guard it like the most fragile china and when the baby starts sleeping crazy amounts there's a part of me that rejoices and a part of me that worries that he's dead or that he's used up his sleep quota for this whole week in one day and will not rest again until I crack.
The baby is stedily becoming more interesting company and divides his time practising his transformation from a swiper-to-a-grabber and practising his flirting techniques. He is sailing through an intensely social phase in which he is charmed by anything that moves and bestows many beaming smiles on his adoring public. They are a potent weapon, the baby smiles - a sort of cross between Ecstasy and Heroin which fill his parents with the Spirit Of Love and Forgiveness and wipe from their traumatised memories and his karmic record the first month or so of his life.
We had an exciting Easter mini-break full of socialising that culminated in Baby's First Wedding on Monday (I put on makeup! The baby wore a shirt whose collar kept riding up to make him look like Count Dracula!). It was an excellent occasion, and he behaved himself impeccably except during the most solemn bit of the ceremony and the reading in Arabic when my child chose to lose his rag like a mini-Crusader and commence the wailing that refused to be shushed. Having satisfied himself with embroidering Smallest Cutest Colleague's Precious Matrimonial Memories with his trademark wails Matei then spent the rest of the occasion showering all and sundry with his best gummy smiles and being enchanted by all the balloons! and poeple! and twinkling lights!
Ah, children. Constantly thinking up new ways to amuse and alarm so that my parenting stint seems like its a perpetual carousel of emotions veering between anxiety and joy, a sense of hope and doomful foreboding.