rshort1202

I am in some room, open and airy, yet almost a room that feels like it should be smaller (I can’t tell if it’s more of a gym or a bedroom, or some combination of both). There are only two others here: Allison and Harper. I am sitting on the floor, my legs straight out in front of me. There’s a small gap between them, in which Harper sits. She’s nestled between my calves, facing me, holding onto my hands. I tilt her to the side, as if I’m going to let her fall, before moving her back to an upright position. I watch as each tilting brings a smile to her face. Meanwhile, Allison is out on the floor and throwing me the needle-sided portions of the security ink tags. She throws them at me, and I attempt to punch them back at her. Some of the needles are making contact and tearing up my knuckles. My preoccupation with the baby/toddler coupled with the inefficiency of punching these things results in me feeling like I am not making for a very fun time for Allison. I think she may sense this too.