Three mornings a week I walk with L., the pig that made me grandmother.
When it rains, the sensible people (first the father and mother and stumbled half-asleep after three and a half months sleeping skipped) I suggested that we stay at home watching cartoons. I say yes, of course, with this rain, but then backing the buggy with her nylon shell, you change the diaper and before putting tipitos the clean breath you some balls, you love, and say that we go out and get wet for a while. He laughs with audio, real big laughs from union opening its big mouth toothless uncontrollably over and over and stretches Backing up first on one side and then the other face of pleasure rather extraordinary since mankind learned to have fun. It sprawls, leaving seedlings kissing and clapping and looks at me with love in their dark blue-gray eyes (one color in t ble growth, which I saw before in pictures, skies and silk but not in eyes). We went and watched the trees and the birds jumping on the sidewalk and the rain will splash your face. That we love. We stopped, we talked a while and continued walking. Sometimes we go to a cafe, I morph a crescent with a cut and he concentrates on his latest research: the movement of fingers, the attempt to capture objects with a closed fist, the whole hand suction hurgueteo the index with the bell and the corresponding arches. That brings us almost an hour. So let
coming home, where he first watched the Nietódromo, which is the fourth former V. turned-quarter of babies. There is a practicuna, a stroller canchero, old toys, old toys and a library of books handed down from fathers and uncles. Many have been bitten babeados and others have been plundered with nails and fingers, leafless and drawn with marker, but still beloved books when the children were boys. During the move there were several episodes of regression but did not reach the sphincter uncontrolled passed him by. A. and V., in turn, and separately, they sat down to watch his books and some of fichus. There is one of Halou Kitty, another hairy fichus Barbis others. They played the fichus and say "oh, how I remember this" and "This gave me Agustina" and "this made me very sad, do not know why" and "I remember when I got this, it was difficult." Looking at a book, V. murmured dreamily, "you do not know how distressed me this story. I saw this old lady and thought it was the Bobe walking through the snow, and I got very sad. I did not understand anything."
Growing up, leave home, live alone, have children, everything that was happening lately to the five of us made a big rebound effect as well. Last night I woke up all three have a strong sense that I'm living some things last. It may be so but it can also fall asleep because before I read in a newspaper that an elderly woman was hit by a bus and when I asked how old I was (thinking it was an old lady like my ma) I saw was actually four years older than me. That brings me to another topic marginally kept me very busy in recent weeks, moving beyond the internal and external, of the impending births and making and receiving blankets, blankie interlock.
But in our next post.
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