Back into our routine after three days off, I was walking back from coffee this morning with HM, my four-year-old. She was in the push chair and I was contemplative in a post Bank Holiday sort of way.
"When I'm a mummy I'm going to walk like this," and she got behind the stroller and started to push -- her tiny head just able to peer past my Orla Kieley bag. She pushed on, and the stroller kept veering to the right -- and running into the brick pillars of the Edwardian homes that line this popular road near town. I could tell this was going to take a while, but I didn't hurry her. We had time. The two older girls were in school. It wasn't raining. It was just me and HM. And her imagination.
"I'm going to have babies when I'm a mummy," she offered, running the push chair into a tree.
"Yes, mummies have babies," I answered, thinking of my own three. What a handful. "How many are you going to have?"
"Two," she blurted out without hesitation. Then, like her mother, she paused and thought about what she said. "No," she shook her head slowly. "Just one. I can only look after one."
Now why in the world didn't I think of that?
Photo credit: flutter girl
