for the first time on the quarter horse ride outside of Schneider's on Avenue A "Twinkle, Twinkle" mechanically playing on and on. I am holding her so she doesn't fall off the moving horse. She looks up to the darkening autumn sky above the switching traffic light, points beyond me. Sky, yes, you've named the sky and now it's yours.

Today my two year old daughter first unbuttoned a button. I'm picking up the pennies that she spilled from their glass jar onto the wooden floor. There are so many. I have to bring them up one at a time. It seems like some mythic task of penance. The dryer rumbles on and her naptime shortens. Some pennies are shiny copper. Some are almost black with a crescent moon of green. The unbuttoning was an accident-- she was nursing and pulling on my grey shirt and the tiny buttons began to open when she tugged. At fourteen months with a bad cold she stopped nursing for three days. La Leche League recommended a lot of skin to skin contact. I walked around with open shirts as if to entice a lover. After each button is unbuttoned she gives me a kiss on the lips. Baby kisses are funny. I have to pull away--the baby will stay there all day, fully in the body while I think, is this going too far? Finally we settle on the length of a proper kiss. While I put the last few pennies in, my hand knocks the jar over and I have to begin again. When Asha reaches the last button she wants to do it again. When did I lose that enthusiasm for the world and my own actions in it? Maybe she is molding herself to the imperfections in my psyche, like a wasp molding its grey cone of a nest to the eaves. Let me be like glass that she can see herself through.