Breadfeeding

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Taylor looked up earnestly.

She stared at the baby in my arms, desperate for a chance to hold her.

Although 10 year old Taylor had just met little Sayler, she was in love.

She grabbed Sayler's chubby arm as it draped over my own and kissed it, followed by a stroke to her cheek.

In a most adult-like tone she asked me,

"Are you breadfeeding?"

I smiled.

"Yes", I replied.

I knew what she meant.

She went on, in a most-certain way about how she was 'breadfed' but her little sister, Hannah, was not, because the 'breadmilk' made her sick, but that breadmilk is best for the baby.

It made me smile again.

At only 10 years, Taylor spoke like an adult.  At one point in the evening she even brought me a cocktail and said "don't worry, it's not dirty..." to indicate it was alcohol-free.

(We wouldn't want to taint the breadmilk, after all)

I wondered when and how she became so precocious. 

Much later in the evening as the rest of my nieces and nephews were running amok she decided to tattle-tale on my nephew Charlie, the birthday boy.

"Charlie's throwing ice!"  she said.

I smiled as I overheard her tell his dad.

My brother winced as he looked down at Taylor and asked... "What are you?  The Hall monitor?

She met his gaze and without hesitation replied ".... well someone needs to put that boy in line..."

I stared at the young brunette as she bounced about the backyard with intense curiosity as to what all of the other children were doing, ensuring order in the evening.

As I followed her movements, I wondered if Sayler would be so intense when she was older....

Somehow I quickly dispelled that notion.

I have a feeling she'll be the one throwing the ice.

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