Edith woke up at 4:20 am today and she was very demanding all the long morning and when the afternoon rolled around and it was time for swimming, I just couldn’t drag myself through getting us both into bathing suits and down to San Marcos, so we didn’t go.

I felt awful about it — one of my biggest parenting fears is that I will succumb to depression and be unable to take Edith places, and so part of why we have baby gym every Saturday and swimming every Sunday is as a safety guard so that I will be required to leave the house. I really think I was just tired, but being unable to summon the energy to go somewhere is a red flag for me, so it made me feel guilty and worried and worthless.

We went to the playground instead. It was very cold out and Edith only wanted to swing for a little bit, and then she started to fuss, so we walked around the play equipment and then Edith involved herself in her usual business of trying to eat wood chips. A woman walked by and when she saw Edith she gasped and said, “Oh my, what a beautiful child!!!”

This is the proper response to Edith. Usually people just say, “aww, he’s cute!” or whatever, and that’s FINE, but Edith is not “cute;” she is stunning and miraculous, so I was pleased to meet a woman of taste who actually knew an especially fine baby when she saw one.

After awhile, I heard a rustling and I noticed that the large rectangular bush next to where Edith and I were sitting was packed full of little perfectly spherical grey birds. They were all peering out from the branches at us; they were fluffed up yet slick with bright eyes, and tiny, precise beaks. I guess people must feed them, because they weren’t frightened at all, and they kind of followed us back and forth as we went, flocking from one end of the bush to the other, and arranging themselves among the boughs with their little faces peering out in silence.

I watched them for a long time, and then we went home.

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