Testing all sorts of limits this week. Test #94 included the experiment to see if she could sneak up on a sleeping Trumpeter Swan.
So much fun that she decided to do it again.
and again.
There was one moment of what some parents might call "complete silence" or "perfect silence" today. Unfortunately, it did not do for me what I thought it was going to do. We would expect peace, serenity, utopia, right? 
Nope. I was worried and concerned. Why was it so quiet? Where is *Mila*? What is going on? Well, she ran upstairs to find a flashcard that read "play" to show me the proof that it is in fact spelled "P-L-A-Y". The most ironic part was that I made her these flashcards and she has them stashed in her room like little treasures. She knows them off by heart, inside out and backwards. 
But, what I was getting at was this: I closed my eyes and imagined for one second my life without her. My heart immediately broke into two. Life without her was instantly dull, boring and meaningless. She has taken this world of mine, that I like to imagine has a happy ending, and wrapped it around her baby finger tightly, cutting off all the circulation. Of course I have felt this way since she was born. But there hasn't been one moment where I thought to myself: "What if I didn't endure those labour pains? What if this never happened? What if she never entered my world?" It is a thought that parents don't want to think, obviously. And one that I will never imagine ever again. Never.
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