The baby girl and I were listening to NPR tonight while returning from some errands at Target and a visit to Petsmart's adoption center to look at the kittens.
The announcer introduces the segment by saying when her daughter was born, this woman quit her job. There is a slight pause in which I contemplate my jealousy, then the announcer adds, "to indulge in scrapbooking!" Huh? Well, it is one of ME2's favorite hobbies, so I listen.
He mentions, "Now her daughter is four, and she has seventeen scrapbooks!" Good Grief lady, I can't even keep up with my diary or tracking the basic baby firsts. The woman says, "Everywhere I go, I see scrapbook layouts." "Very cool," I think, because my artistic tendencies lean toward the written rather than the visual. Then the woman gushes, "I just didn't want her to wonder, when she got older, if she was loved."
Gosh, I was hoping my daughter would understand that she is loved because I tell her a thousand times each day, "Mama loves you!"
Now where are those pinking shears?