This afternoon, after the noise of an airplane became too much for her, Eve came in from the garden, muttering. She crawled through the kitchen, walked through the living room, and lay down on the couch. “Muk,” she said, signing for “milk”. I brought her a bottle, and she lay there drinking it, examining the ear of her toy fox, until she dozed off.
Once she had been down for about fifteen minutes, I got up and looked at her sleeping. She was wearing trousers and socks and shoes, and a hooded cardigan. She looked like any of the kids who clamber all over the equipment at the playground in the country park; she’s just a bit shorter. The Bean is not a baby any more. We’ve got a toddler on our hands.
I realize that being a parent is going to involve a continuous series of these kinds of revelations. I also realize that she’s still very little, and that her getting older means there are a lot more fun things we can do with her. But still: It’s gone away faster than spring. Only spring comes back every year.