Imaginating

It fascinates me to watch my daughter grow up. Yeah, I feel a little sad or nostalgic or whatever you want to call it when I look at how tall she is and remember when she was just a little baby.

But I am all about the playing. And so it fascinates me to watch her play nowadays.

She’s always had a good imagination. But I can remember when she required us to supply the ideas, and she would play along. Now, she is able to generate the ideas. When we make up stories at night, she supplies characters and plot.

I find it amazingly cute when I watch what a good mother she is to her dolls. I know a lot of this is taking what she sees everyday and acting it out. But some of it isn’t. Some of it comes from her.

The other day, I was laying on the floor with her, watching her play with her Little People. And I didn’t need to be involved. I just was able to lay there and watch her. And be fascinated by her.

And watch her grow.

Before having a kid, I never knew what 1 year olds were like. Or 2 year olds. Or three. It wasn’t that I never came into contact with them. But I never had the kind of involvement that let me see what they were really like.

For all I knew, kids were mindless slugs until 8 or 9. I guess that’s why it is amazing to watch her learn and develop and grow. And do things I never thought a one, two, or three year old could do. And I am sure there’s more in store at four, five, six, etc.

She’s not our little baby girl anymore (although, she’ll always be our baby). But she’s still amazing.

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