You ever have a fave artist that goes from “Artist I Admire” to “Literal God I Would Die And Give My Soul To” after they say something?
Since Rosie started walking, John and Sherlock have barely been able to keep track of her. Her first unaided steps were taken on a Thursday evening. Up until now they had tested her little legs out on the soft grass in Reagents Park, where she squealed to get after the ducks, and babbled at every stranger, winning their hearts over with a big smile. Her balance was already remarkable, wobbling only the slightest bit when he held her by her hips or little hands on the rug between their chairs (1)