Sunday, June 29, 2008
The cry from the other room lifted me off the sofa. My daughter stopped me, telling me that she would fall back asleep. She cried out out again. Now nothing would stop me. The royal command had been given. The decree had been sent from a dark room through the warm summer's evening to my ears.
Now she strolls the palace in socks and a diaper and the queen mother follows with a brush to fix her hair.
She rules my life. Her hand is only big enough to grab two of my fingers and she weighs one tenth of me but she is able to pull me up when she wants something. She does not speak but prefers to point.
Long live the Queen.
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