Little Feet

Little feet on the floor...thump, thump, thump, thump...and then here she comes, around a corner, up the stairs, from the other room...thump, thump, thump, thump.  Maggie doesn't stop moving for much.  She's like a shark.  She's perpetually circling in your peripheral...touching, grabbing, absorbing...

Thump, thump, thump, thump...

She especially likes June's underwear...and bathing suits...and she likes putting things into other things, and, of course, taking things out of other things...she likes trying to get into the corner that Zoey calls "her store," but is really just a collection of most of the junk in the house, certainly everything you're ever missing.  She's a drone sent on a mission to mess up the house, in small, mostly inconceivable ways.  There is no preparing for her gentle, little whirlwind.  She's not some kind of impossible chore. She's just good at being one year old.

Thump, thump, thump, thump...

She's headed for the stairs...or the bathroom. We have to keep that door shut or she goes straight for the toilet, and the stairs, well, we watch her but it's impossible to keep her from them anymore.  Zoey's room is a favorite but it's pretty much Maggie proof, and guarded by a bit of a tyrant, so we barely even think about it.  She tries to crawl up and over, into the tub if we're not holding her back at bathtime, and I just dare you to keep her from following her sister.  Impossible.

Thump, thump, thump, thump...