These winter traditions 

My little love is changing before our very eyes, every day, every minute. When any lapse of time goes by where I don't see her, eight hours of work, eleven hours of sleep (yeah, I said it and I can't believe it either), a few minutes of knitting, there is a noticeable lengthening in her torso, a new way she lays on the floor to play, a new combination of words (!). How can she possibly be able to reference a story she'd heard a week ago? Bea, you are a small green bud getting bigger and wider and stronger and richer by the minute! 

Today, out in the backyard at around three thirty in the afternoon, I very much enjoyed our conversation. I held you close as the wind was very biting. You felt so big and bulky, so different than you did last winter. We spoke of nests because with the trees being bare and all, we saw such perfect, big wads of sticks and leaves. In the spring, when more buds appear on the smoke tree, the lilac, the maple, the nests will fill with blue bird eggs. We'll be able to hear the chirp, chirp cries for food, worms, I said, that the mommy and daddy birds will bring for their baby birds. You wanted to hear that story over and over, until we had to go in to warm up. Bea, I am so happy to hold you, to kiss your cheeks and mouth and ears and hair in between your little words and my long sentences. I sneak all of that love in whenever I can. I grab you close, cuddle you all cozy as much as I possibly can. I am glad you mostly approve.