Dear Olivia

Today I sat at the table and watched you. You were wearing a cute baby blue sleeper with multi colored polka dots. I had put some of your hair in a pony tail which stuck up on top of your head and spilled over on top like water from the blow-hole of a cartoon whale. The hair at the back of your head curled up in little wisps.

You were exploring. You crawled into the playroom and spilled multiple bins of toys—sifted through them like treasure, examining pieces that fancied you, but in the end discarding them all.

Dissatisfied, you crawled over to the basket your mother filled with items to be taken upstairs. You stood at the basket and removed things one by one. Occasionally you talked to one of the items—babbling in your baby language that only you and the angels understand.

You found your tiny shoes—more like moccasins really, all leather pink with flowers. You held one of them up to show me and told me about them. I pretended to understand and said they were beautiful shoes. You were proud of the shoe but tossed it aside so you could pick up something else. A few more items and the basket was empty. A job well done.

Looking for something else to do you scurried off clicking with your tongue on the roof of your mouth as you went. I clicked back, and you turned to me clicking a few times just to please me—you know how it warms my heart when you click to me, like it is our own special language.

You smiled and went back to work. I smiled too, wide, and felt tears forming in my eyes. I held that moment as long as I could, not wanting it to end.

The tears evaporated before they could fall, but I knew they were there. When I see you playing, babbling, smiling, clicking, I love you more than I think I can bear.