Silk

Noelle has a new toy. Rather, I should say, her mother does. A bit of rose silk. Now I understand why silk is so highly prized.

I love the way it floats down through the air when tossed, blanketing Noelle and I underneath, giggling at the pure pleasure of it landing on our heads.

I love the way it feels against my skin.

I love the way it shines in the sunlight.

I love the way it drapes languidly over whatever it covers.

But most of all, I love the way it caresses my baby's own silk skin.

Silk over silk.

On a side note, Noelle loves to look at herself in the mirror. I find it so amusing. When she sees herself, she always bursts with a smile, sometimes laughing, in sheer joy of seeing herself.

We put various props on her, sunglasses, clothing, the silk cloth, and she delights in seeing herself in each one, going so far as to pose in different directions. I even catch her giving sidelong glances to the mirror while she is playing, I assume to see how she looks in action. Even her dull reflections in windows and glass catch her eye.