An ordinary afternoon.
September 14, 2012

It’s just the two of us, cuddled together in bed.  The way we have snuggled from the very beginning.

Her legs are longer now and her hair has more tangles.  She smells more of paint and dirt and sweat and peaches than she does of milk.  And she chatters now, chatters endlessly, switching between two languages freely, narrating her thoughts as they pop into her brain.

But then the afternoon creeps up on us and her eyelids grow heavy and her emotions come in tidal waves.  She tumbles into my arms and we fall into bed and we sing a song.  As sleep claims us, our voices fade into whispers.

And then, there we are, just the two of us, cuddled together in bed, nose to nose, her little knees pressed up against my belly, her sibling kicking away.

When she wakes up, I ask her what she would like to do.  Would she like to paint?  Would she like to plant some seeds?  Would she like to run around like a lunatic?  Would she like to read books?

She wants to ride her tricycle to Grandpa’s house.  So we do.

I marvel at this age, at how my daughter can at once be a big kid and a tiny baby, at how we can follow up a peaceful sleep with a chaotic tricycle ride.  I know I say this constantly, but every time my daughter reaches a new phase, I am convinced that this age is my very favorite.

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  1. By on September 14, 2012

    I love this post. And I love you guys.

  2. By on September 14, 2012

    Soo beautiful! Love this post!





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