Matilda and I are sitting on the living room floor of our St. Malo Airbnb rental.  A big girl now, 18 months old.  She signals that she wants to walk, words still a work in process, learning both French and English.  I stand, moving behind her, letting her grasp each index finger, taking matters into her own hands, leading the way. And we’re off, determination shining in her blue eyes, now smiling, moving onto the deck, stopping to wave at the birds flying overhead and the chicken statue, saying poule.

Reentering the house and we’re off again.  And again. And again.