In the cab on the way home from school yesterday, we shared a bag of Christmas candy. I asked her about her day. She lit up with a smile. "At the roof, we played Runaway Baby." And then the smile was mine. "Wow," I said. "What does that game involve?" And she looked at me, her blue eyes wide with a mixture of whimsy and wisdom, and said, "Um, a baby that runs away."
And I've been thinking about this. This little conversation. This little story. And I realize that's what I've got on my hands: a runaway baby.
Almost six years ago? She was my tiny thing, blinking her eyes at her new world.
Now? She is a long, lanky, silly thing, rolling her eyes at her mom.
A runaway baby indeed.