I’m slightly artistic. I’m no van Gogh or Da Vinci or Dali. I’m more crafty than anything else, I think. Ya know, the Play-Doh, wood-and-paint, coffee filter wreath (Hi, Tracie!) kind of crafty. But I’m very musical, which I think is an art. Even if it’s more of a performing art than a visual art, it’s still psychological entertainment and, well, we’ll just humor Liz and go with the way of music as art and such.
My kid. She’s artistic, I’m convinced. Musically and visually. She can sing Beyonce songs like it’s nobody’s business but hers and has the waving arms and head tilts to accompany it. And she’s loved coloring and drawing since she could hold a crayon in her little fist and put color to paper in no particular fashion, which always made her squeel because that’s so cool, Mommy. Look, Mommy! She’s been slowly learning to color inside the lines and use pressure to make the colors lighter or darker.
And then last night, all of a sudden, she did this:
Out of nowhere, she draws a thing. An actual thing with eyes and a mouth and feet. Features! Extremities!
I was so excited, I was hugging her and praising her work and then I made her do it over and over again so I could make sure Chris wasn’t trying to get one over on me.
(This one looked like it needed something to be warily staring at, so I obliged it with a………bee?)
This, I was cheerfully informed, is a baby frog.
This, however, is my baby.
I’m a little bit thrilled at how her talents are emerging, one by one. I’m a little bit sad that her babydom is slipping away, little by little.