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.