Nineteen months and a couple of curls later
Here we are, Anne-Lise (Mommy), me (Emeline, one superactive toddler), and my uncle (who’s snapping us) strolling on the remparts of the Nantes Chateau des Ducs de Bretagne. It looks like we’re smack in the middle of yet another dreary November. But that’s all appearances. We’re actually going through a very damp - to say the least - month of May. At least I can rehearse my vocab: maman et daddy. Yes that’s the way I call them. I can walk too of course. I even chase smaller babies. And don’t you go about messing with my cookie. It’s mine and mine only. No sharing. Kisses you can get, but hunt for your own grub.
Oh, and I love phones. I simply do. I call them lallos cuz after all it seems you grown ups spend your time saying that into the phone (humans speaking to a handheld piece of black plastic that makes noises and vibrates - whirs - sounds down right weird to me).
Daddy broke his foot. Maybe now I stand a chance against him when he comes chasing me round the apartment when bathtime looms in.
It’s late - time to doze off. See you next time.
