The Narrator

Beginning when Emma was a tiny newborn baby, I acted as the narrator of the story of her life. As we went through our days together, I would talk us through our every action and decision. “Now what shall I make my Emma for breakfast? How about some delicious rice cereal and your favorite peaches?” I was oblivious to the puzzled looks I would get as I consulted baby Emma about my product choices at the grocery store. “Hmm, what do you think, Emma – Cheerios or Rice Krispies?” No moment was too small to be articulated.

Emma seemed to like my running narration. It was like I was reading a story to her, a story in which she played the starring role. As soon as she started talking herself, she began to take over the role of narrator. Just like I had, she would narrate the tiniest moments of our day, “Emmie eat her toas (toast). Yum!” When she would try something new at her playgroup, she would narrate, “Emmie do it. Yeah, Emmie!” Sometimes her narration was reflective. We went for pizza one afternoon and watched the man make our pizza. The whole ride home from the restaurant she described, step by step, how the man had made her pizza. And she discovered that narration could have persuasive powers, as in the time she said, “Mommy should get Emmie a cookie. That’s a good idea!”

But I came across one piece of narration that I was particularly glad I had recorded. In it, Emma captured the otherwise too easily overlooked emotion of a tender moment.  In the scene, I am carrying a very tired Emma in from the car and the narrator says simply, “Mommy carry precious Emma.”