This morning, as we do every morning, we spent the hour immediately post-breakfast with Sofie playing in her room while I sat there in her rocker slowly nursing a cup of coffee and trying to wake up. I like the first hour of the day -- it's quiet. She wakes up, we go upstairs to read a handful of books ("Book! Book! Book!" is her greeting for me each morning), and then I cook us some breakfast. Then we sit and play (her) and ingest caffeine (me) until we have the strength to really begin the day's adventures.
Except that today, she toddled off into the living room for a moment and I waited, just to see if she was really out there to stay or if she was coming back. And then suddenly, the pink, plastic head of her baby doll was thrust out around the corner to peek at me. Alone. And then pulled back. And then thrust out. And then pulled back.
"Where's baby? Where's baby?" I called loudly, catching on to the game.
Boom! Here's baby, peeking around the corner at me. Much toddler chortlling from just out of my line of sight. Someone is amused by her own machinations. I'm pretty amused too.
So funny to watch her think of these kind of games. She's becoming so imaginative. We're so lucky to have such a sweet, sunny girl in our lives. She rewards us liberally all day long with these huge, delighted grins whenever we get something right -- when we respond to her requests with the RIGHT cup, the RIGHT toy, when we retrieve the committee member who has rolled under the hutch, when we do something she thinks is funny. Sure there are the inevitable toddler storms, but in between the weather is so consistently sunny and gorgeous in Sofie-land that I can hardly believe our luck.
Even when I'm tired -- when a day starts too early and ends too late and all I can think before Brett gets home is how much I need a little break from small people and their needs -- even then, she spends twenty minutes in the other room with her dad and suddenly I'm in there again, pulled in by her bright eyes and her sweet little face and her chubby little belly. I just have to touch her, give her a hug, make her laugh. It's like a drug.