I Wanna Hold Your Hand

The other day, The Girl and I were riding the T home from a playdate. Understandably, once she had finished her snacks, she got kind of bored. Lacking the keep-her-happy-on-the-T toys that usually live in my bag, I pulled out my iPod, which is now home to a Laurie Berkner album. I let her put on the headphones and listen to Victor Vito and B-O-O-T-S, and she was entertained until we had to switch trains.
A couple of days later, we were sitting around after dinner when I had an idea. I got my iPod out again and told her that, if she wanted, we could listen to I Want to Hold Your Hand, the song I always sing to her when we're walking. She liked the idea, so I helped her put the left earbud in, turned the volume way down so as not to hurt her precious baby ears, and started the song. Her eyes lit up as she heard the Beatles singing the words she knows so well, and she started singing along. Then she paused.
"Abbie?"
"What, honey?"
"Is this song about you and me?"

Yes, honey. Yes it is.

Please Don't Mind the Puddle of Melted Heart

So I just got off the phone with my favorite child in the whole entire world, the one who I nannied all last year, the one who I love more than is healthy and talk about more than is necessary. Her new (as of late September, when I came back to Dartmouth) nanny just quit, so her mom's between a rock and a hard place, childcare-wise. Since I'm going to be on spring break next week, I offered to babysit for four days while her mom tries to hire someone new to take care of her. I'm totally attached to her, but she's mildly autistic, plus she's little, so I kind of assume that she only vaguely remembers me. Tonight, I was arranging things with her mom, who told her she was talking to me, and asked if she wanted to say hi. She did. As soon as she gets on the phone, she goes "Abbie? Are you going to pick me up at school?"
She didn't know that I was babysitting next week, 'cause her mom wasn't sure it was going to happen, so she didn't tell her.
Now does it make sense why a little part of me wants to quit school and go take care of her until she's fifteen? No? Oh, well.