On Friday afternoon, I held Phoebe's hand and walked her up our garden where some immature apples had fallen too early from a tree. She picked one up and inspected it.
"Apple," I said slowly "App-le!"
"App-le" she said. "App-le..."
A magical moment.
Phoebe is eighteen months old now and she keeps bringing extra joy into our lives. She was on holiday in France recently and we missed her a lot. Conveniently, the holiday coincided with Simon's death and the days that surrounded it. For two weeks we were free from our regular child minding duties.
I copied the following four pictures from my daughter's Instagram page...
|In the second picture, she is stroking the concrete figure of a cat that sits on a paving stone atop the grave of our cat Blizzard. In the last picture, she is rocking like crazy on her little blue horse even though it appears to be still. Such joy. The apple of our eye.|