The compulsion — indeed, the need — to scour every sale rack, stop at every glimpse of pink, and buy, buy, buy for the coming Princess. I mean, how can you not? After all, every princess needs new pink things to wear.
Jameson’s sense of independence. I really don’t think it occurred to him before that he could be in a different room than me, and not only would that be okay, but that could possibly be fun. Liberating. A golden opportunity to do all of the things he’s wanted to.
Like, for how long has he eyed the toilet paper, watching me pull it, tear it, totally mesmerized by the process. I could see those little gears filing away this information for later — and now, later has come.
Last night we got home to a dark house. I flicked on the kitchen light, and he took off on his tummy. I didn’t think much of it — after all, the whole house was dark. How far would he possibly go? A few minutes later, I realized he wasn’t back, and he wasn’t in the dining room. No, he had crawled through the dark dining room, the dark living room, down the dark hallway, and had pushed open the bathroom door, where he was finally getting a chance to pull himself up with the aid of the toilet, and get his hands on that amazing toilet paper.
I had to laugh. Had he been dreaming about the toilet paper the whole evening? Was it really the first thing to pop into his little head when the van pulled into our driveway? It sure seems that way!
Oh, how much fun he is!