The Walkman

A few days ago I admitted how I enjoyed it when Maddie was sick.  That was because that was the only time Maddie would stay put, and seemed to want to be loved.  (Normally, she can out pace a caffeinated Tasmanian devil.)

Last week, Maddie noticed her Mommy listening to her discman (portable CD player).  When Mommy was done, and put down the discman, Maddie naturally wanted to see what the attraction was.  She pushed the buttons on the case, and was delighted that one or two would affect the slight whir of the tiny motor.  Then she noticed the wire to the headset, and did what babies to best.  She yanked hard on it.  The connector to the case unplugged.  So she entertained herself for a good minute trying to replug the thing, and unplugging it again.

Finally, she traced up the wire to the headset.  At this point, the disc was stopped.  She’d put the headset up over her head and around her neck like a necklace.  Then she’d call out, “Hello?  Hello?”  But alas, the thing was not a phone.  Mommy stepped in, and turned on the CD player, and positioned the headset over Maddie’s ears.

Maddie froze.

She didn’t dare move her head, body, arms, hands, even fingers, lest this wondrous music disappear as suddenly as it came.

So, naturally, we tease her.  We start circling her, and position ourselves just out of sight, but within arm’s reach.  Then we’d call out, “Maddie.  Maddie!”  And Maddie would cautiously, slowly roll her eyes in our direction without turning her head.  But even if she still couldn’t quite see us, that was too bad.  She wouldn’t move.  She just couldn’t risk losing the music.  After a couple of minutes, we took pity on her, and took off the headset.  Maddie breathed again.

This little game worked again over the next couple of days, but today Maddie was already over it.  She’d figured it out, and it wasn’t so special.  So, once again, there’s nothing that’ll keep Maddie still.  (Except for possibly the TV.  That’s not so good.)