My baby is ready to run

It’s sweater weather, finally. The air conditioner is switched off, and in the evenings when the windows are open, the curtains float up off the ground.

Aveline is getting reacquainted with hats, long sleeves, socks and shoes.

She is a tropical baby. She barely knows what these things are.

For the longest time yesterday, she curiously pulled at her sleeves. She looks upward, tilting her head back as far as it will go, trying to understand what a hat is. This morning she kept turning the ties of my hoodie over and over in her little hands.

She laughs when we take her outside and the cooler air hits her face. She laughs, and wriggles and squirms and tries to get down out of our arms.

She can’t wait to walk. Even when she stands on her wobbly legs, she doesn’t stand still. She waves her hands wildly and bounces.

She took her first step the other day. I know she’ll take off soon.

I know she’ll start running and when she does, she is not going to stop.

All I can do is I tie the laces on her teeny-tiny Converse a bit tighter, and hold her hands a bit more loosely.

My baby is ready to run.