Yesterday, Maggie Rose had her very first bath.
Thank goodness. She was growing potatoes in her neck folds, though I found that precious, of course.
Holding Maggie after her bath, it occurred to me that as much as I live for the next great celebration – a windy summit, a glass of French champagne – it’s the dirty coffee cups in the sink and the smell of a freshly washed baby that provide the baseline for all such frivolity.
Here’s to life’s mundane details on this gray Wednesday morning.
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