The Kitty Cat's A Neuroscientist
On her first Halloween, I knew she'd go far.
When my daughter celebrated her first Halloween, her personality showed as clear and big as it ever would. It had shown nearly as clear at the moment she was born. But in terms of her individuality, the way she related to the world around her, the difference between the two ages wasn’t much of a stretch. The moment she was born, she was so much herself, and unlike any newborn I had heard of, that I felt a completeness rise off her that overwhelmed me. In seconds, I thought of her as a formidable person, an old soul. An old soul with attitude.
Right away she demanded to be listened to and dealt with on her own terms, but not with a cry. As the doctor placed her on my chest, my baby girl raised her head and fixed me with a knowing glare that implied incredulity at what had just occurred. (I assure you she was justified, but that’s a story for another time and place.)
For hours, she didn’t cry, simply used whatever eyesight scientists have decided up till now that newborns possess, and fixed it on me, then the room, letting us guess at her intellectual infant thoughts by the subtle movement of her eyes. At moments, long moments, her gaze would be off in the distance like an “I Survived The Baby Trenches” version of a thousand yard stare.
