Snuggles

Snuggly bug. Shweetie. Chunkamunka. Pretty Baby. Little Lovey. Baaabyyyy. Chica.



Those are a choice few names we use for our newest gift from Department of Social Services. They hardly describe her wide brown eyes, tiny little nose, and enormous chipmunk cheeks. They don't do justice to her whispy brown hair with the little cowlick right at the crown of her head, or to the dimples in her hands or the rolls around her elbows and wrists. I'm in love with her feet - they are so tiny, so perfectly square, such dainty perfect toes. No, it's her cheeks I love, the way they squish under my lips when I kiss her. No, it's her legs I adore, the jiggly round thighs creasing into a round blob of knee creasing into a smooth sturdy calf. I love her teeth, her only two, the two on the bottom so pearly white and perfect little tic tac's in her pink mouth. Yes, it's her feet I love. No, it's all of her. Precious. Perfect. And boy does this Chica know how to snuggle.



I borrow a bag of baby slings and find the ones I like best, and Chica snuggles right into a hip carry, smiling with her two bottom teeth, her only teeth, and then ducking her head right into my breast as if it were her own personal pillow.



She plays with blocks and cars, plays peek a boo and tickle, giggles and squeals. She drinks her bottles well but is picky with her food - preferring cheerios and soft fruity cereal bars over the barley cereal and butternut squash or the creamy chicken and apples in a jar. She is frightened of the bath - and we wonder if this is where her "accident" took place. If it was in the bath where she recieved the bruises and marks. If it was the bath which led DSS to take her away and give her to us. When I bathe her, she shrieks fearfully the entire time. Wailing with a stream of tears pouring from her eyes, little hands flailing, feet kicking, until I take her out, wet and still slightly soapy. I wrap her in a towel and croon nonsense words to her until she calms down. It's been 8 days and the bruises are fading, the marks are hardly discernable on her skin, but her heart... oh her heart.



She too, like our other foster babies, has come to us with a cold. As well as one upper front tooth pushing hard to make it's way out of her gum. We try to dole out medicine as infrequently as possible, believing the runny nose is good, better than stuffy, that her cough is productive, that her mild fever will only help to burn off the bad germs. Plus? At 10 months, she is so young to be sucking down chemicals. Just the ibuprofen when her teeth hurt, when she is crying and chewing on her fingers and rubbing her mouth with a little round fist. Poor Chica.



She is butter soft skin, she is kissable cheek, huggable roundness. My husband says she looks like the baby sister to the character Lilo in the movie Lilo and Stitch. She is sleep all night and nap for 2 hours delicious. She will stay until...well, until she leaves. We Will Miss This One.



Chica, pretty baby, little lovey, shweetie, punkin', momma, snuggly bug, little miss. Be Blessed Baby, be blessed.