Yesterday, my daughter learned that sometimes Mommys cry for no obvious reasons. She learned that her new puppy backpack has a tail. She learned that Mom holds the tail. She didn't like that lesson.
She learned that lions roar. The noise is just fun. I'll have to hint daddy into asking that question tonight. She also watched the baby story today.
When I was lounging in a chair trying to catch up on my weekend sleep, she walked up, my dressy white winter gloves in her hand. With a professional snap that brought visions of doctors changing into latex she pulled them onto her hands. She was talking the whole time, most words not recognizable, but "baby" popped up once or twice. In a business like way, she lifted my afghan up from my feet over my knees.
"What are you doing?" I said, peevishly. To which she responded with a serious manner I rarely see. "d-iver baby." Huh? It took me a while to realize that my daughter was playing OB-GYN, and set on assisting Mom in having the baby. I began to giggle and then laugh.
This didn't please little miss doctor at all. With a bossy frown I'm used to seeing on her fathers face, she told me to push.