playing the piano
and watching our cat Frances, who dines on the side porch -- or just peering out at driveway activity. (I can just about cook a meal while he stands observing the world beyond our house.)
And of course Owen is also finding many places to fall. He is in the throes of discovering the limits of his newfound mobility – and I’m pretty sure he took about seven significant tear-inducing spills today, including one in which he split his front lip a bit on the siderails of Will’s bed. So far I’ve managed to suppress the old hover-mother instincts in spite of it all.