Avery is two weeks old today. I suppose this is entry is the first instance of Avery getting what she wanted by barricading herself in Lynnette’s womb for 18 hours after Cole was born.
Avery doesn’t look like anyone else in her family. She’s got the notch in her right ear like I do and a couple of possibly crooked pinkies like I do, but that’s about it. No, the way Avery most resembles her parents is through her continued development into the kind of high-maintenance female that reeks of Karen Higa, Lydia Pascua, Lynnette Higa, and Madison Higa. I don’t believe in destiny, but you might be able to talk me into this one. If I had it to do over again, I might have swapped out Rio for Diva, just so I could stylize her name as A very Diva Pascua
Glance at this second picture. This look here – the furrowed brow, the contemptuously narrowed eyes – is the trademark Avery look. It can say so much while saying so little. “No, I do not find your sound effects amusing, dad,” it can say. “No, I will not smile for you, dad,” It can say. “Man, it’s going to be two years of listening to this fool’s singing before I can actually talk and tell him that he sucks and beg him to stop” It can say.
Avery prefers breast milk to formula. She prefers the rocker to the changing station, but being held to everything. She does this one thing that drives Lynnette and me crazy. She doesn’t take a full bottle so Lynnette tries to supplement with boob potion, but it doesn’t fill her up. So she wakes up screaming before the next scheduled feeding because she’s hungry…but then doesn’t take a full bottle, so…
She has a built-in level that tells her when someone is about to put her down (even when she’s asleep). Her crying is louder and more intense than Cole’s, and when they cry at the same time it reminds me of an in-their-primes Cecilio and Kapono harmonizing on that one line in “Here With You,” but only if Cecilio and Kapono were singing through tin cans over the screams of mating cats and recording onto the cassette tape of an analog answering machine. But on good days, she opens up those bright eyes of her and locks them on yours. Excited, you start talking to her in that high-pitched voice, you end every sentence with rhetorical questions like “don’t you?” and “yeah?” and “aren’t you?” and you swear that she’s hanging onto every single word. On those days I want to say that she’s got the most beautiful face I’ve ever stared into, and I do. But not loud enough for Madison or Lynnette to hear me.