J reminds me of this–one more videotape I could not watch. Each night I would attempt to make sense of the mess–hand wash dishes, sweep floors.
This particular night there was an apple, red, nearly perfect. Only one baby bite etched into its skin.
A few inches away there was another. Same MO–one tiny bite removed from its skin. Then another and another until the rest of the bag lay at the end of a trail of beautiful red apples, each grazed by the tiny perfect teeth of a wandering toddler.
Baby, really. You were still just a beautiful, perfect baby.
We laughed at your perfect crime. Filmed it for posterity. Aware that you were borrowed and that the trail you left was indelible.