In which we discuss matters of the family.
My little girl is growing up.
After her doctors appointment this afternoon, I read in the handy info pamphlet that we should expect her to be walking while holding someone’s hand by 12 months. And that made me cry. She amazes me every day.
This picture was the best of the 9-month-old baby bunch. Rockford was tasked with taking the picture this month. I won’t make that mistake again.
Rockford officially graduated last night. I got a little choked up when the graduates filed in, and I thought there might even be tears when he walked across up on the stage.
Alas …
Poppy was cheerful for most of the evening. We’d packed a few of her books, and she always likes to be around new faces. And there were plenty of new faces there to see. The graduation was late in the evening, though, and she was getting tired. So I gave her a bottle and she started to fall asleep and Rockford was approaching the stage and then?
Poppy exploded. Baby yak everywhere. On me, on the floor, on Phoebe’s purse and book (but, thankfully, not on Phoebe).
So I missed it, mostly. I caught most of the pomp, but I missed the circumstance altogether. Or did I see the circumstance and miss the pomp?
Scene: Midwestern living room. Baby is playing, wife is on the floor, husband is seated in chair, gazing into the distance.
Wife: What’re you thinking about?
Husband: You really want to know?
Wife, hesitates: Yeah
Husband: Balrogs.