19. 22. Afterlithe 1369
22. Afterlithe 1369
Time is getting very dear. Frodo occupies most of mine no matter how much Drogo and Gilda help, my sister-in-law coming over at least twice a week while Drogo works in the southern fields. I have spent the rest in the garden the past few months, planting herbs and flowers. Now I am enjoying the blooming flowerbeds when I am outside with Frodo.
That cheeky little lad has started crawling recently. Last night, while Drogo and I stole a moment for a kiss, our dearest took advantage of the distraction to crawl to the basket of firewood and begin scattering pieces. By the time Drogo and I heard the delighted squeals and giggles, our dear son had already spread most of the kindling on the floor.
Our Frodo is always up to mischief. Last week, when I was working in the garden with Gilda, he discovered a spider. He watched it carefully, without touching it, for many minutes, but, as children will, it eventually ended up in his hands and I stopped him from putting it into his mouth just in time.
Everything ends up in his mouth, except what I want him to eat. I am still nursing, but also started spoon-feeding him some mashed carrots and potatoes - much to his dislike. Frodo likes potatoes, but he always spits out carrots. He makes a disgusted face as if he has tasted the most awful thing in the world, squeezing his eyes shut and clicking his tongue to get rid of the taste.
But for all the mischief, Frodo causes there are times I want nothing but to cuddle and snuggle him and nuzzle his soft belly. Then he squeals and giggles delightedly and looks at me with his shiny blue eyes. Oh, those eyes! When he looks up at me and smiles, they sparkle with joy and innocence. How can I ever be angry with him? How can anyone ever resist him?
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