has been a new thought that has slowly been sinking into my subconscious of
late: the realization that Evening is not a baby anymore. It began
with a pang of guilt when I referred to her as ‘my baby’ recently.
as I watched her play with her toys, babbling away as they acted out-something- and she was lost in her own
little world, all by herself.
also very noticeable when she grins at me and several tiny white teeth
mothers I know experience some sort of regret when they begin to notice these
things.While I’m in no hurry for
Evening to grow up, Ifeel rather
excited for what's to come.
such a happy baby and she’s still so happy that I expect she is going to remain
an amazingly positive and fun little person.
to hear what she thinks about…well, anything.I very much want to hear the talking versions of her babbling stories
with her toys, our cats, and my winter boots.
Especially my winter boots, because it
seems to me that a very great sign of being an adult is no longer understanding
what one has to say to a pair of winter boots, and I'd like to have that piece of childhood back.