When our family was here Sunday to celebrate Saoirse’s birthday, my aunt gave Quinn some new clothes for the spring. And, nestled in this box of clothes, were the slippers.
They’re cloth, and striped, and sort of adorable. Quinn immediately asked my aunt Mary to help rip off her socks so she could put on these slippers. And from there she ran from the living room, through the dining room, into the kitchen, and back around again, over and over. They’re a smidge too big, yet, but it doesn’t matter.
“Shu-es! Shu-es! Shu-es!” she says.
She wore them until bedtime Sunday. Today, she woke up, asked for the three stuffed animals she must hold in her arms before she allows someone to pick her up from the crib, then pointed at her slippers. “I wan shu-es. Shu-es,” she said. She wore them until naptime, kicking around the house, staring at her feet, so proud of her new shu-es. And after her nap, after her diaper change, she walked over to where I sat with Saoirse–the three of us had been reading a book together–and handed me the slippers. “Poot on shu-es,” she asked. “Bee.” (That’s Quinnesque for please, of course). “Poot on shu-es, bee.” And on the slippers went.
They’re getting a little grungy already, but you know I can’t sneak them away yet to wash them. And she insists on wearing them barefoot, so I’ll let you imagine the condition of the insides of those things. But I can’t get over how grown-up she looks in them. She’s like a little adult, though she walks around with a cup of milk and a lollipop, prancing around like I do in a new pair of heels.
Somebody slow down time, please. Because I’m seeing the future, and I’m not ready for it.
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