Are you my mother?

On our walk to the library we saw loads of babies and strollers and costumes. And babies in strollers wearing costumes. I had forgotten that Carnevale dei Bambini was that afternoon. The piazza was covered in confetti and streamers littered the cobblestones. It looked like a light multicolored snow. I got Ada out, she toddled around, picking up pieces of paper. We threw them in the air. Looked at the balloons. She flapped her arms when she got excited about all of the bright, colorful, and fun things she was seeing.

Of course, I forgot my camera. But maybe it's a good thing. I wasn't distracted by trying to take a good picture. I just enjoyed the time with my girl and talked to a few Italian women who asked if my daughter was twins with a Italian baby toddling nearby. When I said, No. Non lo so questa bimba. Lei e mia figlia.

Then they asked how old I am. And then they asked how old Ada is. Those two questions seem to always follow the discovery that I'm not Ada's nanny.