This morning, I was in the bedroom getting dressed for work and I heard Owl shuffle off to the kitchen. A few seconds later, I heard plaintive wailing. When I got to the kitchen, I saw Owl patting his hand against the dishwasher and crying. He has not done this before, but I correctly surmised that he wanted his water bottle to be filled with water and then handed to him. I thought that was rather clever.

Penguin, also displaying some smarts of his own, set up his battery-operated train on the tracks all by himself, turned it on and watched it zoom around the circle. This is big, considering that this is the child that has consistently dragged myself or Papa Bird to any toy train track to set up a train for as long as I can remember him playing trains.

This is the point at which your memory tricks you. Drunk on the falsehood that is “parenting children is easy,” you start to think about expanding your family again in these moments. Maybe if I was turning 33 this year instead of 37, I’d give it some real consideration. As it is, my ankles are crackling when I walk and I’m starting to take on a matronly appearance around my midsection. There is a small part of me that thinks about it now and then, but it’s a thought akin to daydreaming about a lengthy trip to Europe. Great fodder for the¬†imagination, probably not gonna ever happen.

 

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