I love that Roman has a bed. And I think he feels the same.
After the missionaries and Bryan had left - leaving me and Ro with full bellies and a kitchen sink full of mess ;) - it was time to play with my two year old. He bounced on the bed, pretending to nurse his soft toys and then he settled down on his front like this to read his nursery rhyme book to me.
"OH! CAT! Oh, hello," he said, following his own plot and not looking once for my approval, very lost in his own world. I love his company, the time we spend together and I can't believe how difficult the first few months of his life were for me - adjusting, early morning bed times for us both, pain, pain, pain and tiredness beyond anything I've ever felt but knowing I had to function as someone's mother in a few hours. I can barely believe we moved into this home when he was seventeen months old; still at the breast, all of his teeth not yet in his mouth and footsteps still to walk. What happened to time? Where the heck did it go?
