I could have come home after taking Lucy to a friends and done laundry, or cleaned, or the endless other undones laying around the house. Vada would have been fine to play on the floor as I picked up toys that not three hours later would be back out of place or clean the kitchen that as I write this needs yet again to be cleaned again. But... I didn't.
We walked around one of my favorite of all towns. Her wrapped against my front, pom-pom of her hat in my face, coffee in hand, just the two of us as it never is. She looked out of her mama-vada coccoon and took it all in, alternating between squealing with delight and humming her pre-sleep song to me. And, of course, gave her tight lipped, face consuming, eye squinting smile to
anyone everyone who we spoke to. Then she snuggled into me as she hid her face; again, that little secret she only shares with me. We caught the simultaneously amazing and offending smell of the church fish fry beginning in the street behind the church. We shopped for things we knew we wouldn't buy. We talked to the dog in the back of the truck parked along the street. For the morning, we acted like she was my only.
I had packed my camera. It stayed in the car. The morning was ours. Our little secret.
No comments:
Post a Comment