Fear the Grass

I'm in no hurry whatsoever for Mila to start legit talking. I already have a creature whose mouth leaks words 24/7, so the tiny one can take her time. That said, I wouldn't mind hearing her thoughts for a few minutes. Like, maybe three minutes. Given the choice, I'd pick the three minutes from earlier this evening when Mila was in the yard.

I mean that literally. She was literally just sitting in the yard. I was desperate to pull some weeds in the garden, so I grabbed the Mila Monster and headed outside. I opted to set her down the grass a second so that I could grab a carrier or something for her, but then nothing happened.

For real.

Nothing.

The kid wouldn't let her right foot touch the grass, nor her hands, but she also wasn't upset to have been left in the middle of the yard. She very happily sat there, carefully balanced on her butt while cooing and giggling and generally entertaining herself.

I don't get it. I'm not dumb enough to test fate, though. If a baby wants to sit and be happy, Imma let that baby sit and be happy.

But I still want to know what she was thinking.

I'm relatively sure she wasn't judging me for my actions. I wasn't just pulling weeds, by the way. I was also planting the tulip and daffodil bulbs that I somehow never planted last fall. WHOOPS.

I'm also sure she wasn't judging my ill-fitting jeans, dirty t-shirt, or super not cute shoes.

She also wasn't judging the fact that the garden weeding is about 12 months too late.

She was just sitting in the grass, happily cooing as she watched my every move.

Babies make the best audiences.