Das erste Jahr Babybuddha jetzt auf:
oder über den Online-Buchhandel
And then our baby falls over. More quickly and straightly than a felled tree. Just a moment ago he was standing by the coffee table with a stern expression as he examined a cork coaster imprinted with the construction phases of the Eiffel Tower, bit one of its corners, knocked its edge against the table – and already he fell (we were still amazed: how he pulls himself up alongside the table and his big head rises over the horizon of the table top, how matter-of-factly and yet surprisingly he now stands upright, without straining, though wobbling a little, but unconcerned). A thump as his head hits the rug, and we feel the floor vibrate. Instantly we leap toward our fallen baby – and gaze (kneeling) into a quietly laughing face. It forces us to remember the pause just a moment ago, when our child fell over and before we leapt toward him – a pause that must have been very brief but that now, after the event, seems to have been enormously long. And this pause (was it the complete emptiness between two thoughts?) makes us as speechless as our baby’s fall and his quiet laughter about that.