Someone might think I've lost my mind, dancing around my kitchen to imagined music, quacking with a duck puppet on my hand, crawling around on my hands and knees and meowing like a cat or jumping out from behind a counter yelling "Boo!" as loud as I can.
But she's here.
Four years old, bouncing off the wall, giggling with glee and squealing, "Mommy Mommy! Do it again! Do it again!"
I've lost the me I used to be. I've always been weird but perhaps I've come to accept it more these days and have allowed myself to become immersed in her world. I'm slowly losing my inhibitions.
I'm having fun despite looking like a complete fool and if someone, anyone off the street, walked into my house today they might think I'd lost my mind. Heck, I might think I'd lost my mind. But I do it for her because it's important to her. It's important to play and the more I play the more I get into the fun of it.
It makes me feel happy to be lost in her energy and her imagination. She's only little once and for today, I've set aside my housework for a while to pretend to be a cat or build a tower, or play peek-a-boo.
I'm participating in a writer's workshop with: