She crawled into my lap and took my book out of my hands. She got comfortable and started looking through it, asking me questions.
What’s this about? Why?
She can’t read yet, but she sees us reading a lot these days. We read with her too, of course.
When I saw Rilke in her little hands, I imagined, just for a second that one day she will be reading Rilke and not just to make me lose my page. Perhaps one day she will love these words as much as I do. Or she won’t and will tell me all about it. I’ll take that too.
I spend a lot of time in the moment these days. If I look ahead, I get overwhelmed, so I try not to. But sometimes, I get a little glimpse into who this kid might become when the train set is away for good and when the marker lines on the table fade.
Childhood goes fast, yes. But I’m not the parent that cries when I give away outgrown clothes. Maybe I’m not sentimental enough. Probably.
For now, I’ll take the visit on the couch. Even if it means I just lost my place.