Emmie left my bedroom to go to the bathroom... and returned 47 seconds later to fling her body onto the bed. I was busy reading a travel story in the New York Times, so I hardly glanced up at her mini-tantrum.
"MeenameenaMeenameenaMEENAmeena!" she whined, and flailed her arms.
Um, okay...
"What's up, Doodle?"
"BeeemaneemabmeeemaneemaBEEENAMEENA!" she shrieked.
"Yeah... I don't know what that means."
"I. NEED. TO GO. TO DA BAFROOM!"
"Okay. So, what's stopping you?"
"It's daaaaaaark!"
She's developed a fairly paralyzing fear of the dark lately. I don't want to make the fear too convenient, so I don't jump whenever she freaks out. Plus, I was really enjoying that story.
"Okay, give me a minute to finish this article."
And then I promptly forgot that she even existed.
Ten minutes later, as I finish the story, I look up to see her watching me, patiently. Mentally, I am still navigating the high steppes of the Andes and am overcome with wanderlust.
"Hey, Doodle, if you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?" I ask.
"To da bafroom - like, right now," she deadpans.
She knew I'd forgotten about her. She was reminding me, with wry humor and laser-like precision, that she was being dutifully patient. I laugh so hard I almost throw up.
"Come on, Doodle." I pick up my sweet girl and carry her to the bathroom.
She kisses my cheek: "Fanks, Mom."
"You're welcome."
No comments:
Post a Comment