The time is almost here. My little girl will be three in May, and already she's capable of a dexterity and understanding I never believed possible during the long, dark months of screaming, feeding every twenty minutes and dropping every single meal all over the floor. (Granted, an ear infection means she's spent the last week essentially regressed by about a year and doing most of that stuff all over again; I haven't left the house since Sunday because she's been clamped to my leg the whole wile, and every single word I've written this week has been with her on my lap and to the gunshot-disruption soundtrack of wracking coughs. Don't have kids if you want to have a life).
She's increasingly aware, too, that sometimes I'm playing games when I'm shut away in my work room, and sometimes she wants to watch.
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