After we got home with the tree, Isabella decided she really didn’t want to go back into the house. She wanted to take a walk. In fact, she started off down the sidewalk by herself and whined so much I took pity on her, thinking she’d tire out soon. She didn’t.
She made it all the way around the block, and it’s a pretty good sized block. She only had to be lifted a couple of times to get past places where the sidewalk hadn’t been cleared and once we had to take to the street to get around a stretch that hadn’t been shoveled at all. (When the snow is up past my knees, there’s no way Bella is going to wade through it.)
We said hi (and bye, bye bye) to the mailman. A couple of times I glanced up and saw people in passing cars beaming at my precocious little cutie in her pink jacket and purple snow boots. Whenever we got to a stretch of sidewalk that hadn’t been shoveled to the pavement, where the snow was a couple of inches deep, Bella would get a little anxious, whining but not crying. but most of the time she was eager, excited, curious and full of wonder at birds and trees and most of all at the snow, snow, snow, snow, snow, snow, snow.
By the end of the walk the sun was finally breaking through the clouds and Bella had asked me to take off her gloves. She started picking up handfuls of snow and tossing them in the air, yelling “ball”. (She had seen me make and toss a few snowballs before we left our yard.) A huge change from the girl who has previously cried whenever she got any snow on her hands. Maybe this stuff has it’s good points after all, mama, she seemed to say.
I’m still wishing for a nice tramp through the hushed, snow-filled woods, but Bella reminded me this morning that when you’re 19 months old just going around the block is an adventure. And sometimes even when you’re 33, if you have the right company.