I'm here tonight, at their house, baby sitting her. She is a dream of a baby. She's tiny and delicate. After Big Joe, she is as light as a feather to me. Her little head is tiny, her hands are tiny, everything about her is dainty. She's built like her grandmothers and not her Auntie.
My tinies adore Addy. They love when she comes over. She can seem a bit overwhelmed by them but even that is lovely. She doesn't shriek or scream. Rather, her eyes well up with unshed tears and she just sits there, looking devestated, like an old matinee leading lady. She channels Ingrid Bergman at 7 months.
She is the spit-and-image of her Dad, Adam. Even her EARS are the exact same as his. But she has a delicious dimple in her left cheek, just like my sister, which gives her a lopsided smile that makes my heart sing.
Already her heart and her personality remind me so much of her mother. It's a funny thing to think that she is my sister's baby. That my baby sister somehow carried and gave birth to her. That she is nursing her and caring for her, pureeing baby food and developing opinions on sleeping and discipline.
She's an amazing mother.
I guess we must be grown-up now. Or something.
