After eight months of lying around in people's arms or sitting quietly in their laps, this girl is ready to move. In the past week or so, she has figured out the basics of crawling, pulling herself up to stand, and stepping along in an upright position.
So this afternoon, when we were playing together, I hit upon a winning strategy. I stretched myself out on Ramona's play mat and let her climb all over me.
She pulled on my hair, tried to eat my bracelet, and played with my toe ring. She yanked and tugged on my clothes, examined my pocket flaps, and patted every inch of my face. She climbed up, over, and along the length of me, squealing and squawking in delight as she went.
As for me, I encouraged her, laughed with her, tried to keep her from falling hard on her head. I marveled at how much she has changed in the six weeks I have known her.
And I remembered the countless times that I played like this with my own daughters, and how long ago that now seems. I'm glad for every moment I invested in those play times, though. Because now I have no regrets about how I spent my daughters' childhoods. Instead, my heart is full of sweet, sweet memories of their precious baby days.
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