Before we met you, I swore my house would never look like the homes of some of our friends who have children. Messy, cluttered, toys scattered everywhere. After all, I have my own life and my own friends, and I've waited a long time to have a space that's just mine, to create it any way I like. I'm an organized, pile-happy, cautiously creative girl who likes some extra space on the carpet to spread out my project-of-the-moment, so there's no room for castaway duplos and weeble-wobbles.
It was just impossible to anticipate what a little person you'd be. Not just a little girl, but an independent, mind-of-her-own, laughing-climbing-always-moving monkey that swings from the railings and is obsessed with things that open and close. You are liquid sunshine, and your little blonde head bobbing around at knee-level makes my heart flip over every time I see you, and it actually doesn't matter how much of a mess you're creating. And thus, our home is turning into that home, the one with the undeniable presence of a little one.
This weekend, we're taking half of our living room and making a play space for you, a place to put your toys and books and the few kitchen items that you've claimed as yours and won't give back. We don't have a big place, since your Daddy and I are still trying to get back on our feet after too many years of education and school loans. So we found a book shelf at a yard sale and spent the past two weekends stripping the paint off of it and sanding it down. This weekend, we'll paint it a bright yellow and put it beside your alphabet rug, and gladly share our space with you.
I love you, baby girl, in a way that I can't even describe. Hope you like your little dreaming corner.
