Credit Where Credit is Due

I could say that months of coaxing, doting and obsessing over my daughter's development have finally paid off. I could say she took her sweet time and was going to walk whether I worried or ignored the situation. I could say either of those things and not be fibbing, but I would be ignoring the truth completely.

The real reason my child gave up her four-footed existence? Rats. Of the sky. Pigeons, to be clear. I suppose I should lend kinder words to the impetus for this miraculous occurrence but I do not care for pigeons. Yet, Katelyn, Katelyn bears a deep affinity for them. One of her first words (after daddy and before button) was bird. BIRRRR to be exact. She chases them at the park, repeating birr! birr! birr! Nothing, short of spotting a button, has brought her greater joy than fleetly running down a sky rodent.

So here goes: Thank you gray pigeons. Thank you brown speckled pigeons. Thank you wierd pigeon with one leg. Pigeon with the tumor on its beak? Gracias amigo. You too, pigeon who poo'd on my stroller, you are just as responsible for this fine accomplishment as your betumored colleauge. I suppose this is a truce of sorts. Don't expect me to feed you or anything. But I guess I'll stop calling you rodents. For now.