Our little empath

I had a hard day at work -- racing to complete the final proofs on the magazine before it went to the designer, I didn't have time to swim. Or, for that matter, eat lunch. Or go to the bathroom.

When I picked Rachel up, she was reading a book in the babies' room. As soon as she saw me she jumped off the chair, carefully placed the book on the shelf and raced toward me yelling, "Mommy!!" I swept her up in my arms (she was already hugging my shoulders and putting her head on my neck) and said, "oh, I am SO glad to see you!!'

The rest of the night proceeded normally: She slept on the way home, and when we got into the garage she said she wanted to stay in her car seat for a while. I went inside, changed clothes and returned to find her crying -- I said, "sweetie, did you think I left you?" "Yeah," she sobbed, and she insisted on rocking in the rocking chair. Then she calmed down, we read a book, then had dinner. She ate A LOT -- chicken from my bowl of matzo ball soup (thanks, Drew, for the matzo balls!), some spaghetti, apple butternut squash and two cups of strawberries (she insisted I buy them at the grocery store on Saturday even though they're way out of season).

Again, a pretty normal night. Until we went into her bedroom for Mommy books and she said this as I was about to take her on my lap:

"I'm gonna take care of you when I get bigger and bigger and bigger and bigger."
I blinked away tears. "What made you say THAT, Rachel?" I asked.
"I don't know," she shrugged.

When I told this to Amy, one of my closest friends and best mom source, she said, "It's like she's 2 going on 22! She's such an old soul!"