For some weeks now, Job and I have wondered when Maxine would climb out of her crib.
Wonder no more.
Small thud. No cry. So I assume she stuck the landing. And then she appeared at the top of the stairs. Grinning from ear to ear.
Shit is about to get real. The crib was our last bastion of babyhood control. She’s gone rogue. She’s free range. She’s Erikson’s stage 2.5.
I know why the
caged bird sings.