Parked

Sitting at the kitchen table, Helena points out the window at the dogs in the park across the street and starts barking.

We set off for the park's toddler playground yesterday. (No snow anywhere!) The sign insists that you must be between the ages of 2 and 6 to enjoy the equipment, but I've seen Helena-aged babies in there before. No one carded us at the gate. Have shoes, will toddle.

Helena was more interested in exercising her walking skills across a vast plain of sand than in "playing" on playground equipment, which is just as well. She did try to engage a fellow baby in a game of peek-a-boo, but this stranger was too busy eating dirt.

We went on the swings! (I mean that royally. Helena went on the swings. No adult-sized swings in the vicinity.) I love swings! Helena, too, loves swings! The mirth!

We were distracted by some sexy-hot guy doing super-high amazing backflips to entertain his 4-year-old daughter. Wow.

And we saw jugglers! Buskers in training, I think. Helena's standards for street/park performance aren't too high yet.

We nipped by the grocery and I was exhausted by the time we returned home. I did not have the strength to lug baby up to the third floor, and I didn't think I had it in me to make two trips to collect our shopping bags. So for the first time ever, Helena makes her way up to our apartment all by herself.

I rested a little while Helena Swiffered the living room floor.

Toddling rocks!