My Little Mussonlinis

I’m often reminded of my preconceived notions of babies and children. An entire day spent with babies or older children will kill a whole ton of thoughts you thought you knew about those little creatures.

I never realized how expressive someone could be who knows so little, or none, about language. By the look in their eyes you can tell when they’re sick, when they’re happy, when they’re scared or overwhelmed. Eyes let you know when they’re in agreement or disagreement, content or uncomfortable. Without speaking, a child’s eyes will let you know EXACTLY what she’s thinking.

Let me tell you about my darling Evie’s eyes. Evie has giant, sparkling blue eyes that are still changing in color from the icy blue that they were a year ago to a more mature and mysterious green-blue-gray. And they talk to me. They talk so well that I want to pluck those big, clear orbs right out of their sockets. I swear to god, at around 3 years-old my daughter told me to go fuck myself. She didn’t actually say it in so many words. In fact, she didn’t have to say anything at all. She pointed those death rays at me and silently told me to shove it where the sun don’t shine. She relays her utter disgust and contempt for my actions with one quick glance. I honestly doubt she knows how loud her eyes speak. I think she’s shocked and a little bewildered when I react because she must think I’m a mind reader. Her inexperience with people and body language doesn’t give her a grasp about what she’s doing. When Todd and I pounce on her because she gives us one of her, “If I had a gun, I’d shoot you in the foot and watch you hop around in agony,” looks she acts like she has no idea what the problem is. She’s clueless to the power of her eyes and thinks that we’re just omniscient.

I assume that this “skill” will never leave her even once she learns to control her contemptuous glares. But I can see it now. Fast-forward 14 years from now. 18 year-old Evie, adored by the opposite sex for her incredible sense of humor, outstanding intellect, and fun-loving personality, most sought after because of those gorgeous windows to her soul. Alone with a guy who has just irritated her again and she gives him one of those sharp, nanosecond glances. “What? What did I do?” she asks as he starts to cry.

And then there’s Abigail with her dark blues that take up about half her face. Even she can speak to me. She’s not quite as contemptuous as her big sister, but I imagine this is just a difference in age. I’m sure it’s coming in a few years. Abbie doesn’t have vengeful looks; Abbie gets pissed. Abbie’s eyes say, “Back. The. Fuck. Off.” And “I thought I told you to STOP messing with me.”

She especially gets this way when she’s tired. I’m sure that most kids’ most expressive moments are when they’re tired because they start to lose control of their actions. When Abbie’s tired she’ll let you know it. I don’t so much want to pop her eyeballs out of her head like I do Evie, it’s more that I want to laugh in her face (which pisses her off even more) because she’s such a little baby with a GIGANTIC ‘tude. When Abbie’s sleepy she looks at you like she wants to kill you. Her eyes squint and her nose crinkles a bit. She doesn’t want to be touched and she doesn’t want to be held. Abbie doesn’t let you rock her, cuddle her, or sing her to sleep. When Abbie’s tired she looks you dead in the eyes with complete anger and says, “Put me down. NOW.” I don’t imagine she’s so much yelling at us. She’s more threatening than that. It’s more the Tony Soprano, “Do what I tell you if you want to live.” And we do. Whatever the little tyrant wants.