Sadie Leigh Aiello weighs 23 lbs. and measures 32 inches tall. She's 20 months old (as of last week) and still waiting for the two caramel-colored curls at the nape of her neck to grow into big girl hair. She's brave, and, honestly, she's a little bossy. Actually, I often tell people that when she gets fired up she turns those animated eyebrows of hers downward, raises her hands, and curses at me in an angry baby babble that I am thankful I cannot interpret word-for-word.
Like me when I was a child, Sadie is fearless. She is the only "baby" climbing quite ably up, down, around and through all the play structures in the greater Newburyport area. Plus, she's walked miles upon miles in her pink and gray Carter's tennis shoes, size 5. She rarely tires.
So when Sadie met the wind, I have to admit, I took a small bit of pleasure in it because I was assured some healthy fear still existed in her.
We had been on the trails for awhile, waiting for Henry, who had stopped to break up a pile of dirt by pulverizing the chunks of hardened mud into a fine powder that floated off in the breeze. Sadie had taken to picking up sticks and leaves and handing them to me as precious gifts.
Then it happened. One thin, wet brown leaf that had likely only just escaped the ground where it had fallen many months ago (and been pressed down without mercy by the mountains of winter snow), lay in wait before her. As she reached down, hovering her prominent baby belly over the leaf, it suddenly lifted and moved, as if it had come alive right before her very eyes. Then it had moved again, farther this time. But it had no legs, no wheels. Sadie's body turned to stone and her eyes were stuck wide open. Her olive skin had gone pale. Then she'd turned and come running toward me, shrieking with fear.
"It's just the wind," I'd told her. I'd chased down the leaf, then carried it back to her. "See?"
She'd refused to touch it. Instead, she'd hidden herself behind my legs, peering up at the leaf from between my knees. "Eh" she'd said. "Ehhhh!!!" She'd stomped her feet, pointing to the ground for me to release the demon leaf back into the wild. I'd done as she'd wished and let the leaf float back down to the dirt path.
And wouldn't you know it, with trepidation of course, she'd walked toward it again! And then again! She'd tiptoe to within steps of it, tempting it to fly; and by happenstance, it would. Over and over, she'd creep toward it until it would skitter away. It had become a game for her, and the carefree smile returned to her face.
Sadie had met the wind, then feared the wind, and ultimately befriended the wind. That leaf is just lucky she didn't yell at it.
Like me when I was a child, Sadie is fearless. She is the only "baby" climbing quite ably up, down, around and through all the play structures in the greater Newburyport area. Plus, she's walked miles upon miles in her pink and gray Carter's tennis shoes, size 5. She rarely tires.
So when Sadie met the wind, I have to admit, I took a small bit of pleasure in it because I was assured some healthy fear still existed in her.
We had been on the trails for awhile, waiting for Henry, who had stopped to break up a pile of dirt by pulverizing the chunks of hardened mud into a fine powder that floated off in the breeze. Sadie had taken to picking up sticks and leaves and handing them to me as precious gifts.
Then it happened. One thin, wet brown leaf that had likely only just escaped the ground where it had fallen many months ago (and been pressed down without mercy by the mountains of winter snow), lay in wait before her. As she reached down, hovering her prominent baby belly over the leaf, it suddenly lifted and moved, as if it had come alive right before her very eyes. Then it had moved again, farther this time. But it had no legs, no wheels. Sadie's body turned to stone and her eyes were stuck wide open. Her olive skin had gone pale. Then she'd turned and come running toward me, shrieking with fear.
"It's just the wind," I'd told her. I'd chased down the leaf, then carried it back to her. "See?"
She'd refused to touch it. Instead, she'd hidden herself behind my legs, peering up at the leaf from between my knees. "Eh" she'd said. "Ehhhh!!!" She'd stomped her feet, pointing to the ground for me to release the demon leaf back into the wild. I'd done as she'd wished and let the leaf float back down to the dirt path.
And wouldn't you know it, with trepidation of course, she'd walked toward it again! And then again! She'd tiptoe to within steps of it, tempting it to fly; and by happenstance, it would. Over and over, she'd creep toward it until it would skitter away. It had become a game for her, and the carefree smile returned to her face.
Sadie had met the wind, then feared the wind, and ultimately befriended the wind. That leaf is just lucky she didn't yell at it.
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