I spent two hours today with Raphaela at the birthday party of Zoe (Zoharia), the eight year old daughter of my friend and Chiropractor. Twenty one very loud girls playing musical chairs and mystery gift party games, and touching everything in the house that was either rare or breakable or off limits. My friend's husband kept following the swarm with a garbage bag, trying to clean up after them practically before they finished an activity, and finally gave up and retreated to the back yard, away from the chaos.
Raphaela was a hit, not just with the girls but also with Zoe's older brother and his friend, who all saw her as a dress up doll with small fingers (relative to their size) and who actually smiled and ate and pooped. My assumption that the fascination with babies is genetically and sociologically programmed only into the women-folk was mistaken.
Raphaela has attended her first birthday party, and in my mind I have already started the guest list for her one year old birthday extravaganza.
Today I also finally bought myself a rocking chair, Israeli style rather than the classic American wood jobs I would expect to see in my grandmother's house. We tried it out with tonight's feeding and enjoyed, and at the moment, Harry is sitting there, curled up on the blanket I left for him. I would not have expected any less.
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