October's WordGoddess collaboration:
"Who tells stories about you?"

Dear Diary,

Today I took the grandkids to the library. Josh and Rebecca scattered almost immediately to find books, and I settled myself on a sofa in the children's section to watch little David play with the new train table. His mother warned me before we left that David's been having some difficulties playing with other children and that he'd need close supervision to ward off any "incidents," but he seemed pretty calm this afternoon. Perhaps it was just the presence of Grandma that helped; sometimes little ones behave better for people other than their own parents.

Aside from a couple of Spanish-speaking young ladies, we were all alone in the area for about ten minutes. I actually found myself starting to doze off, until I suddenly heard David's voice: "This is that baby's." I quickly looked up and saw that David was standing in front of a young, red-haired woman with a baby in her lap; he was holding out a pacifier (where did he get that?) with an air of authority. "Him left it here."

The woman smiled and shook her head. "No, that doesn't belong to this baby." David stood there, still holding out the passy, as his little mind struggled with the idea. Here was a passy, and here was a baby. The two didn't go together?

"This is his," he repeated. I got up to go to him; in a minute, he'd be trying to stuff the passy into the baby's mouth, and then we'd have one of those "incidents" about which his mother had warned me.

The lady laughed and said, "No, not his. Some other baby must have left it here. Maybe you can take it to the librarian, and they'll give it back to the other baby." I reached them at this point and took David's hand, steering him to the librarian's desk to do just that. He dropped the passy on the desk, then scampered back to the toys, and to the lady and her baby.

I don't know where he gets this sociability; the rest of our family tends toward bookishness and introversion. I myself returned to my quiet spot on the sofa and watched David pick up two toy cars and trot over to stand in front of the baby. He seemed very interested in the child; truthfully, the baby seemed just as intrigued by David, and strained forward in his mother's arms with wide eyes to get a better look at him.

"Is him going to grow up to be a boy?" I chuckled and covered my mouth. The mother nodded, and David continued, "I'm a boy. I can hit all by myself." I had no idea what he meant by that, and clearly the yound lady was just as baffled, but she politely smiled and said, "Oh, can you?"

"Yes," he said, and dropped both cars before running off.

David continued on with the train table, and I tried not to be too obvious as I watched the mother and baby. His name, apparently, was Sam, and he was a very happy child. My own children had been colicky, grumpy babies, so I hoped that this mother truly appreciated what she had as much as she seemed to. The two sat in front of a toy mirror, the baby sitting between his mama's legs, and they played Pat-a-Cake to his great delight. What a laugh he had!

After a few rounds, though, he became quite distracted by...me. I wonder whether he'd ever seen anyone my age before? After all, this mother was young enough that the baby's grandparents were probably at least fifteen years younger than me. Little Sam locked his knees so that his mother knew he wanted to stand up, and then he goggled at me with an open mouth and a huge grin, making me miss the babyhood of my own children and grandchildren.

They came and sat next to me in the rocking chair by the train table. Together, we watched David play. Aware of his audience, he put on a real show for us, loading the grain cars and "Choo-choo"ing them all around the table. The baby kicked and squealed, lunging forward and trying to escape his mother's arms to play with the toys. She told me he was only three months old, which startled me; I would have guessed his age to be at least a few months older than that, just by his level of awareness and activity.

David suddenly ran up to us. "The wind goes wooooooo!" he shouted, blowing into the baby's face, who responded with a huge guffaw. David smiled in satisfaction and ran off once more.

Wondering: might I convince my daughter to give David a younger sibling (and me a new grandbaby)? After all, none of us are getting any younger.

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