deterioration
Today I walked to the grocery store with Dutch, leaving Cook home with Skipper. I pointed out to Dutch that we were free of Skipper, and that I was carrying no baby on my chest, and she said "Mom, show me how fast you can run!" I looked at her in puzzlement. "Can you run, Mom?" she asked. I gave a short disclaimer about how I couldn't run really fast because I'd probably pull a muscle, and then I ran a little. She said, laughing with delight, "Mom, I didn't know you could run!"
Apparently, because I've been pregnant or encumbered with a baby for nearly a quarter of her life, she thought I was incapable of running.
Tonight she said "Mom, I look cute in ponytails because my face is so young! It's not all screwed up like old people's faces." I pointed out that my face is "screwed up," and her face will become so, too. She said "Mom, are you still going to be alive when you're 25?" and I told her that I am, in fact, OLDER than 25. She said, in entirely genuine awe, "WOW!"
Apparently, because I've been pregnant or encumbered with a baby for nearly a quarter of her life, she thought I was incapable of running.
Tonight she said "Mom, I look cute in ponytails because my face is so young! It's not all screwed up like old people's faces." I pointed out that my face is "screwed up," and her face will become so, too. She said "Mom, are you still going to be alive when you're 25?" and I told her that I am, in fact, OLDER than 25. She said, in entirely genuine awe, "WOW!"
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