Meet Baby, my delightful neighbor. Baby is the third child
of my neighbor Assumpta, a nurse at the hospital who recently opened a small
shop in town. Baby’s real name is Ingrid (her older sister is Igette and her
older brother Ig), but in the year and a half I’ve lived next to her, I’ve only
ever heard people call her Baby.
In the evenings, when I come home exhausted from a long day
of work, Baby acts like a ray of warm sunlight, replacing the real sun that’s already disappeared behind
the hills, leaving my house cold. She runs towards me, arms stretched out,
sometimes squealing, sometimes just smiling. Then, she generally proceeds to
parade around my house, which I am sure she does just to show off. If there are
other children around, she taunts them as she walks through the door, knowing
she’s the only kid I will allow inside. After inspecting my quarters, Baby
attempts to help me with my dishes, inevitably ending up soaked in water. Next,
she follows me around while I cook. By the time the fire is ready, I gently
nudge her back to her home, at which point she cries hysterically.
I really don’t have words for the love I feel for Baby. When
I first moved in, Baby was just a baby. She could barely crawl and spent most
of her time wrapped in a cloth on her mother’s back. Today she is an energetic
toddler who runs up and down the small sidewalk that connects my house to hers:
squealing, laughing, and proudly chanting the few words she’s just started
speaking.
I take back anything negative I ever said about studying child
development—it’s fascinating. Each month Baby seems to take on a new
personality. From shy dependant infant to curious and active toddler, she never
ceases to amaze me.
In the evenings, when I come home exhausted from a long day
of work, Baby acts like a ray of warm sunlight, replacing the real sun that’s already disappeared behind
the hills, leaving my house cold. She runs towards me, arms stretched out,
sometimes squealing, sometimes just smiling. Then, she generally proceeds to
parade around my house, which I am sure she does just to show off. If there are
other children around, she taunts them as she walks through the door, knowing
she’s the only kid I will allow inside. After inspecting my quarters, Baby
attempts to help me with my dishes, inevitably ending up soaked in water. Next,
she follows me around while I cook. By the time the fire is ready, I gently
nudge her back to her home, at which point she cries hysterically.
In a country
where warm affection is rarely shown, I feel a mix of
pain and happiness when I hear the Baby crying because we’re parting for the
night.
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