Baby-dolls and brownies

About half an hour after I put Ari to bed last night, I heard her crying. Well, it wasn't really crying--more like whimpering. She's really good about putting herself to sleep, but every so often she'll wake up for some unexplainable reason, and all we have to do is go in and lay her back down. It almost seems like she wakes up by mistake sometimes and then is disoriented (Tony says she gets that from me--ha ha). When I walked into her room last night, she wasn't even standing up--just sitting up, crying softly, and looking confused. As I approached, she pointed at her binky, which was lying a few inches away from her. "Get it," I whispered softly, and she lunged forward to grab it. I leaned down, prepared to lay her down, but she surprised me by flopping onto her belly on her own, clutching at the baby doll near her. I simply covered her with the blankets, whispered "Good night," and left.

Last night, I caught Ari laying her baby doll down on a chair, and then giving it sips of water from her sippy cup. I thought it was really sweet, but then I realized that the true source of entertainment for her was that the water was dripping out of the spout onto the doll's face. And by the time I noticed, there was a decent little puddle under the doll's head. Ari wasn't too happy when I took the cup away and told her I was on to her.

This morning, when I woke her up, she insisted on grabbing her baby doll before letting me pick her up, crawling crazily around her crib to avoid my arms until the doll was safely in hers. She clutched that doll the whole time I got her ready, protesting grumpily when I dared to make her remove one hand in order to change her shirt. And when I made her leave the doll in her crib as we prepared to leave--well, that was just the greatest insult. She didn't throw a full tantrum, but she made disapproving noises the whole way down the stairs.

I set her down to grab my coat, and she bee-lined toward one of her Belle dolls (probably because there were no baby dolls in sight), which she refused to let go of. Again, putting on her coat was major drama, because then she had to hold Belle with only one hand at a time, and oh the horror! Oh the humanity!

She dropped Belle in the car (as she always tends to do with toys), which was probably the only reason she didn't insist of having Belle accompany her into the babysitter's house. But once in the house, she quickly found the baby doll she'd been playing with on Tuesday and happily carried it around. I told the babysitter about how Ari had been making her baby doll drink from her sippy cup and Mary said she did the same thing on Tuesday. "She's very nurturing," Mary said. Seconds later, Ari was dragging the doll around by the leg, while its head thump-thumped against the hardwood floor. Apparently we still need to work on some mothering techniques.

I think the beloved Belle doll will be taking a backseat to the baby dolls for a while.

**********

Text message conversation last night: (I was upstairs working out and he was downstairs watching TV. Yes, we are lazy, thankyouverymuch.)

Tony: What/Who are the brownies for?

Me: Work

Tony: Ugh ok

Me: I'm goin to cut them--u can have one

Tony: You're kinda nice :)

Me: I'm awesome


Actual conversation we had later: (See, we have live conversations--with words and eye contact and everything!)

Me: What do you care who the brownies are for? You don't even like brownies.

[Editor's note: It's true--the man does not like chocolate. Which is part of the reason we are so happily married--I don't have to share chocolate. Well... except for strange instances like this...]

Tony: I know, but I smelled them cooking and now I'm in the mood for one.

Me: (digging into the still-warm brownies) Like, right now?

Tony: Yes, please.


Actual conversation, part 2, a few hours later, as he watched me frost the brownies:

Me: (feeling him watching me) What?

Tony: That's weird.

Me:: Nuh-uh, it's good.

Tony: I've never seen anyone put stuff on top of brownies before. Well, except when you make those brownies with the crushed-up Oreos on top.

Me: And what do you think is under those crushed-up Oreos?

Tony: Oh. (pause) Hey, do you want me to run across the street and get you some Oreos?

Me: (glancing at clock) At 12:15? No, thank you, crazy man.

The funny thing is, if I had said yes, I know he would have.