19 august 2015
There were places, she now saw, that contained more happiness than ordinary places did. Unless you knew that such places existed, you might be content to stay where you were.
Matthew Thomas, We Are Not Ourselves
Nine months old. I have a feeling this is one of those times I will wish I could have bottled for little whiffs, savored tastes, holding tight to my chest once it's gone. Nora is so snuggly, fresh from the bath and just zipped into cozy pajamas. Bea is going going going except if I can get her to lie down and have breakfast in bed with me if she wakes up before it's totally light; if those conditions are all met, she can curl up and fall asleep with us for another sweet hour. Nora is so close to crawling -- bouncing on her hands and knees, getting upset if left on her belly for long, making Bo and I lose our confidence in how long we should let her get frustrated in trying to move. Bea only got over the hump of figuring out how to sit up when she was raging against the dying of the light one night, that is, at bedtime. Bo just walked in, expecting to reassure two lying-down babes, and Bea was just sitting up in her crib, "HEYYYYYYYYYYY! Bedtime is the worst!!!"
We like to go out on little trips, to the grocery store, to Memorial Park, to the farmer's market, to the library for the first time this past Saturday, crawling on the floor in the kids' section, surrounded by books and feeling lots out with hands and toes and mouths and tongues when Mama can't distract us away. We drove around in our stroller, enjoying the A/C, peering through the kids' stacks, the board books, the kids' books in other languages. I love the entrance into the kids' section at our library so much and am so delighted to have a reason to keep using it.
