On Saturday, Margaret and I went to the park (Leo stayed home with Ellie, who is a very relaxing person to spend a morning with, because she sleeps for half of it, and then putters around on the floor playing by herself).
Anyway, Margaret wore underpants.
And . . . well, look at this.
She climbed that thing all by herself. All the way up. Without my help. It strikes me that she’s been practicing on these trips to the park with her father, and that I probably would have been hyperventilating if I had been there. Because – well, my baby*, and the ground and the possibility of them meeting sharply.
*Margaret deeply resents any implication that she may be a baby of any sort. Suggesting such a thing about her will earn you a sharp reprimand, so be warned.