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All by yourself, you pulled on your rain boots (wrong feet, but still), grabbed a stool and and pushed it to the sink, turned it around the right way, climbed up, plucked a water bottle out of the dish rack, set it to fill under the tap while you played with the measuring cups, and then chugged it. It’s pretty crazy how independent you’re becoming. You, who I still think of as a third arm or leg, an extension of my body.


Was just thinking about a comment Karin’s dad made. For a while Karin had this habit of stretching out her words with these long, raspy vowels. He was laughing about how you could never picture the little details of what parenthood would be like, like your daughter speaking with a graveley voice. In my case, it’s coming home to find little installations, like all the place mats pulled from the cart in the dining room and spread strategically throughout the first floor, with a throw pillow carefully placed on each one.

You are full of surprises.