Last Christmas, the little ones were hip-deep in the snow and Maya was rooting around in my abdomen, kicking along, and a few days from now, I was spending Christmas in the bathroom with the worst stomach bug I've ever had.
But! This year, Maya is the only grandkid in the K household (oh, Hadley, feel better soon--Maya's cousin, who was born a little over a month ago, had a respiratory illness that had her in an ambulance from one hospital to another and a worried mama at her bedside and now, they cannot leave the house as she heals; I wish we could draw the map closer and bring their home into this neighborhood) and she had her first sledding adventure in the front yard. Four dogs, one toddling baby.
Ah-hem. One flying baby. And below, a series of photographs, a piece of Maya's experiences that I can never get back: the introduction to eclair cake, which created something of a monster. I took her spoon to refill it with a little pudding and graham crackers; there was some shrieking. I waited until she understood this wouldn't get her what she wanted, then handed it back to her, the little looney. She was pretty chill when the sugar-loading was over, then she fell asleep in the car on the way to the shops for our last-minute holiday purchasing. She loved stomping around, one parent keeping up while the other did the shopping. Oh, Maya, you boundless little imp, how I love you so.
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