eighteen months

Sage turned a year and a half today, and yes, yes, I have written countless times how time flies and all that, but it does. It really does.

When we first took her home from the hospital, she was such a small and fragile thing, red and pink and squinty, fitting in the span of my forearm and cupped palm. She didn't move much, which caused me distress when she was asleep (crib death running foremost in mind) and so I'd poke and prod her awake to see if she was okay. Which, of course, was not okay - because then she was awake and crying and had to be calmed and lulled back into sleep.

Her first bathtub, majorly blue, seemed like a swimming pool compared to her. I was afraid she'd slip and vanish into the warm water, but Nikki always held her fast, singing to her songs from the stage.

I remember when Sage first managed to pull herself up and look at us from her crib, a little tuft of hair and eyes.

Then she learned to waddle and walk and run and climb and now I have to be careful to bend my knees when I use both arms to lift her - my forearms can no longer contain her.

And I know this is how it will be for the rest of my life and hers. That I will always remember when I was enough to encompass her, and just marvel and wonder at how it is now the universe that embraces her.

But she'll always always be my little girl. Sagey Wagey Baby, the best banana in the world.