Humor Me

Periodically, I am overwhelmed by a wave of guilt over Annika's baby book, which is largely blank thus far. I know this is a cliche--the fate of second children everywhere--and much of the time I can suppress my guilt, so overwhelmed am I by virtually everything else. But then. The wave comes (why does guilt feel like drowning?), and I succumb. 

So as an impetus to write in the book itself, I will practice here, by relaying the most extensive conversation I have had with Annika thus far, and--I suspect--the most extensive conversation Annika has yet had with anyone.

Scene: I am lying in bed, the covers over my head, trying to pretend I am still asleep. It is approximately, no exactly, 6:15 a.m. Lily is awake. Loud. (Why is Lily seemingly always awake? Why so loud?) I hear tiny padding footsteps. 

Annika: Mama? Mama? Mama up!

I open my eyes, and Annika is standing by my side of the bed, holding a little pair of shoes. I pick her up and place her next to me on the bed. She hands me the shoes.

Annika: Mama. Shoes on. Shoes on.

I put a shoe on her left foot.

Annika: Mama. Other one. Other shoe on.

I put the other shoe on her right foot. She surveys my handiwork.

Annika (very pleased): Shoes on! Pretty! Pretty!

Me: Yes. The shoes are on, and they look very pretty.

Annika: Down. Down. Show Dada. Show Lily. Pretty! 

I put her back down on the floor.

Annika: Bye-bye, Mama!

So Annika, this one's for you. You are 20 months old, and you talk! And before you are two, I am going to flesh out your baby book. But only if you start sleeping until 7.