Little Friend

 I have one of those late in life babies. I have a sixteen year old and a ten year old and then Weldon Leigh came along. Having a baby after such a long break, and so much life lived, is very eye opening. She is vastly more independent. This is probably because we set her down and take off. Days are spent shuttling kids and trying to stay on top of laundry and the faux flowers in the garden. So she is very content most days to sit and play, for at least a few moments, and watch us all go by. In the mornings when I am busy trying to keep up with my 365 days of writing, I plop her on the floor of her nursery while I sit by and write and watch. When left to her own devices it’s amazing what she gets up to. She scuttles around the room however she feels works best at the moment. Rolling scooting, dragging one leg and clawing the carpet. It all works. I watch her laugh at herself and she wobbles and scoots. Amazed at herself and how far she has come. She is fascinated by the strangest things. The shiny screws holding her organic wooden developmentally appropriate toys together. My un manicured toes. The small spider carcass that has missed my eagle eye underneath her dresser. But her favorite is an old baby doll of Charlie's. She beams at that baby. We tuck it in at night and wake it up gently in the morning. It must be nice to have a tiny plastic twin. She laughs at the baby when I bounce it around and have it pick up toys to share with her. Whenever Welles can, she scoots towards the doll with a toy and to show her little plastic friend how it works. 

So I try my best to hold back when I can. I try to not swoop in and snatch her moments away. I let her have her time finding little treasures and gossiping with her silent little friend. I get it.  My closest friends don’t say much either.