This little tiny baby girl, this thing who took up residence in my womb for nine months, who played with her papa through her mama’s belly, who kept us up all night long one September night, who, when she was born was the most amazingly beautiful baby that her parents had ever seen (see the photo above, taken mere seconds after her birth)… this same baby girl, is growing up. She’s saying the most ridiculous things, and seems to think that she’s been around forever.
A few examples of the constant craziness::
“Don’t think your jacket is pretty, Mama. It isn’t.”
“Where do babies come from? Oh, I know. They come from toenails.”
“Your toilet drives me crazy, Mama.”
“Can we walk to Marme and Granddad’s house on the sidewalk of the world?”
“We ate fish bones for lunch.” (Translation: fish sticks)
“Aww, you are my yiddle papa.”
“Would it be easy to take this book downstairs, Papa?”
And last night, Kinsley woke up at about 3am and came into our bedroom. Dan carried her back to bed, saying “It’s not morning yet, Kinsley. You have to go back to bed.” About five minutes later, Kinsley came back into the room, and cheerfully exclaimed “Good morning Papa!”
In loving memory of my dear friend, now beyond the reach of my help. It’s so hard to believe this could happen. One day you were in my hands, safe and secure, and functioning as you should. The next day, you are flashing an Error 99, in a very melancholy sort of way. Then, you’re gone. With no thought to all the times we’ve shared, and memories we’ve created together. Without even a glance back, and no chance to make things right. Oh, the heartache.