It’s staggering to me that The Rogue is six months old, and The Gambit is nearly two and a half. How did that happen?
The two of them get along like a house afire, which makes taking care of them freakishly easy. The Rogue babbles; I tell The Gambit to go take care of her; thirty seconds later she’s pulling his hair and he’s tickling her feet and they’re both laughing. If The Rogue is crying, The Gambit runs to get her bottle; if The Gambit is in the room and not paying attention to her, The Rogue tries to crawl to him. (She can’t quite crawl yet, but she’s got all the right positions down and she’s trying very hard.) While I overall detest people who look at little kids who are friends and go, “Oh, won’t it be great when they get married someday,” part of me is slightly hopeful. After all, if I’m taking care of them both, I can make sure they’re good enough for one another.
It’s all going by so, so fast.
