[This is a post I should have written a week ago. You can tell by the sunshine and the shorts that it isn’t entirely current, because we’ve decided, apparently, to have snow again. Humph.]
Being unfettered by carseat or stroller or somebody holding her hand and suggesting that she not run out into the street is one of the joys of Margaret’s life.
So when Ron and I took her out to a soccer field, she was in heaven.
Still, she likes to make certain that all her attendants are still around before she takes off again. Margaret’s not a baby who likes shirking when it comes to attending to her.
Things, thankfully, were entirely in order, and she could resume her recreational running away.
This gave way, of course, to sitting on the ground and contemplating things, before becoming more running.
*This is not to suggest in any way that Margaret’s Uncle Ron** is treating her as any sort of gingery confection. He is pursuing her for her own safety, not with any untoward intentions of a snacking variety.
**We’ve been through this already. It’s not my fault that my family is really boring when it comes to naming people, all right? Don’t even get me started on the accidental rhyming.
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