“Have you seen Sadie?” I asked Greta, the head of our household staff.
“She came streaking by here a little while ago, naked as the day she was born, waving around one of her practice swords,” Greta said with a chuckle.
“I’m going to skin Eric,” I shook my head and Greta laughed harder as I walked away from her. “If you see her, please tell her to put her clothes back on and wash up for supper.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Greta said from behind me.
Sadie Adele Northman came into the world at a hefty nine pounds, four ounces on October third six years ago. She immediately had her father wrapped around her finger and it was obvious from the start that she was just as crazy about him. All through my pregnancy Eric had talked to her like she was a person instead of a baby incapable of understanding language. He sang Old Norse lullabies to her when she was a baby, and if she was in a regular first grade class I was sure she’d be the only one able to fluently speak the language of ancient Vikings.