Well, Emma has been sick for the past couple of days.
Yesterday afternoon, I entered the living room to find Meaghan curled up on the floor crying and Addison on the couch with his hood tied over his face so he couldn’t see. Emma was innocently sitting on top of him.
“Yep,” I thought to myself, “Emma is definately feeling better.”
Again last night, she was asleep by nine, without me. And diaperless. She did wake a little after 11, when I went to bed, and had a bit of num nums, but not much. She was up bright and early at eight. Already, she has eaten two bites from a banana muffin, a handful of goldfish crackers, a hot dog, some corn pops and a half a glass of juice.
She almost had a scone as well, but since I had overcooked them last time (forgot to set the timer) she brought it up to me and said, “I don yike da bwown scone. It makes my mouff feel… yucky.” and held it up for my perusal.
She has also talked non-stop since she got up.
It always amazes me, even when I recollected earlier this morning that all the other kids did the exact same thing, when they suddenly grow 6 months older over two or three days. Usually they got sick or something and spent a few days quietly laying around, and then when better, seem so much older and mature.
I mean, this is Emma, my baby, and she’s asking me what day is it, let’s look on my pooh calendar, and where’s daddy going, does he have to work today? and oh look mommy, snow is falling outside! She gets my attention by asking ever so politely, “Oh, Mommy?” and if I say “Oh Emma?” back she goes, “Yes, Mommy?” as if she is ready to do my bidding.
I’ve been doing this however long already, and I still don’t know how time got so elastic. I still don’t know where she came from. I still don’t know how we managed to wind up with such great kids.