Code Blue(bird)

I'm pretty sure Pipsi's going to be a doctor. No, this isn't one of those situations when I'm laying the fabric of my own dreams over someone else's life framework (I wish I could take credit for this visual but alas, it's all Zora Neale Hurston-- if you're a woman, read Their Eyes Were Watching God-- you will never regret it). Whatever a Bean wants to be is fine with me. For real. But what I saw today truly seemed like a glimpse into the future.

We were playing together on the living room floor this morning-- Pooki, Pipsi, Katie and I. Poor Pipsi. Her sister has become the hoarder of not only Binkies, but toys as well as pretty much everything else. Over the last week and a half, I've learned that Pipsi has a frustrated, "Hey, give that back! I was playing with/ drooling on/ biting that!" cry. And I hear it frequently. What happens is this: Pipsi's playing with a toy, minding her own business. She studies whatever she's got in her little Beanpaws intently, then jams it into her mouth, wrinkling her nose and snorting in concentration. She gnaws on it for a few seconds, then removes the object from her mouth, gives it a few good whacks on a nearby surface or herself, then holds it a few inches away from her nose, and starts all over again. She can go on for quite a while at this. Meanwhile, Pooki is quickly bored by whatever object is temporarily in her own grasp and looks around for something else. Inevitably, her eyes happen upon her sister and whatever is in her hands or mouth. Sometimes it's a toy, others a Binkie, shoe, bib or other such object-- it doesn't matter. That's the one she wants. And she wants it now, thank you, resulting in Beansquawking and a little Mommy intervention. That's fun. Especially when Pipsi has nothing in her hands at the moment and thus becomes, herself, the object of her sister's desire. It's hard to watch one of my children try to eat the other. Sigh.

Anyhoo, this morning Pooki was getting sleepy and not a little clingy. She'd clambered up into my arms (and melted my heart) and we were watching Pipsi together. I found Pipsi at that moment particularly entertaining because the object of her attention for the moment was a crazy, psychedelically-colored crinkly birdlike thing. But this time, rather than holding the trippy birdy in hand, she was bent in half at the waist, alternating between bashing the poor thing with her fist and chewing on the beaklike protrusion jutting from its face. It looked, honestly, like she was passionately kissing on the thing and would make violent love to it at any moment. Picture it in your mind... Pretty funny, huh? Suddenly, Pooki decided she wanted down. Guess what she did? That's right. She went to steal her sister's lover, literally, right out from under her nose.

Although the pacifist in me wanted to just move Pooki far enough away from Pipsi that the lovebirds (haha-- I kill me!) could enjoy their little tete-a-tete unmolested, the twin-mom inside my head (who sounds a lot like Alice from the Brady Bunch) told me to let them work it out. Pooki's busy, wily little hand immediately shot out and grasped the Lovebird's beak. Pipsi responded with a shriek and pulled Pooki's paw off. Pooki, surprised at this reaction from her usually mild-mannered younger sister, paused and looked up at Pipsi. Pipsi proceeded to give the Lovebird a few good whacks and resumed her amorous endeavors, rubbing her tongue all over Lovebird's face. She popped her head back up, beat on the bird some more (crinkle crinkle squeak squeak), let out another scream, and back down went her face, back to bestowing slobbery, grunting kisses on her beloved.

Pooki quietly watched her sister. She looked up at me, Binked a couple of times, then turned her big beautiful blues back to the show in a kind of awed, hallowed silence. And suddenly it dawned on me. This was not a teething exercise I was witnessing. Oh no. I saw the passion, the dedication, the tenacity and I realized that this was not kissing/ chick boxing practice or the precursor to a dysfunctional, violent relationship. This bird was dying, and Pipsi was NOT going to lose him, dammit! Not on her watch. My little blondie was performing CPR on the poor birdie as if her life depended on it. Now I got it.

Unfortunately, I think that despite Pipsi's best efforts the Lovebird died. His attending physician sadly lacked the necessary attention span to adequately provide the level of care he required. Too bad for him. Serves him right for deciding to die in front of an infant. What did he think would happen? Still maybe a few years down the road when I'm older (but not as old as you, Hubby!) I know that if I do suddenly require someone to attempt to breathe life back into my lifeless body, as long as I have a Bean around, I'll have a fighting chance.

As long as there's nothing better to do. Like whatever her sister's doing...