Perfection

My husband took the boys to church tonight and I sat in the $2.00-from-a-garage sale lawn chair in my backyard and watched Babygirl wander the back yard with the hose turned on medium-low.

It would have been perfect, except for the following things:

1) I was cold. The sky was clear, but the sun was weak and I was in the shade.
2) The lawn is spotty at best. Our former dog tore up the lawn pretty badly. Babygirl likes to make mud puddles in the bare spots.
3) Babygirl's hair is thinning. She needs Baby Rogaine. I have started to fret that she has "trichotillomania, the chronic psychiatric disorder in which patients pull, twist, pluck and otherwise remove their own hair" because really, why not worry that your 20 month old has mental issues? She pulls on her hair while I nurse her and then shows me the strands in her hand and says "hair." She has little hair anyways. I was a baldish baby myself and now I have enough hair for three grown women (at least I do for now--when the grays start to come in, I may develop trichotillomia myself). Babygirl probably inherited her sparse toddler hairstyle from me.

Come to think of it, those moments were perfection, despite the chill and the bald spots, both human and horticultural. Sun, water and a babe--who could ask for more?