And nothing super noteworthy has happened since my last non-noteworthy blog, except that we had a great weekend where we celebrated 24 hours without a potty accident for Lily, which (since supplements started) has become something of a rarity, and one morning Lily spent about 30 minutes sitting on my lap giggling and hanging out, and that too is something of a rarity.
|"I want more tickle" (morning hair)|
"Your cup is on the table, Lil," I said, untangling myself from her so she could hop down and walk to the table to get her cup.
"I want to stay here," she replied from my lap. And so my wife, knowing as well as I do that time spent holding Lily, who is normally so greased-piglet-squirmy and elusive, is precious, got up and brought Lily's cup to her so she could drink it before returning it to the table so I could resume tickling Lily, who giggled her ass off, sighing with relief as I stopped to let her breathe, before saying, "I want more tickle," and starting the whole process again.
She seems more accepting and appreciative of touch and affection. Not that she ever really screamed about it or anything, but she had a way of wriggling free to let us know when enough was too much.
A few days later, Leslie was sitting on the couch or chair, I can't remember which, staring at me. I looked around a little guiltily, wondering what new thing she'd said that I'd ignored or forgotten. Her eyes kept glancing toward Lily and I kept not understanding what the hell it was I was supposed to be seeing, and finally with a disgusted sigh and rolled eyes she said under her breath, "She's holding my hand."
And sure enough, Lily had walked over and was clutching Leslie's finger in her little fist while she just sort of hung out in our family room, scripting and gesturing with her free hand. And we both got really quiet and really still. . . afraid to change anything lest we frighten the moment away like maidens approaching a sleeping unicorn.
It didn't last long, maybe not even two minutes, but Lily initiated it. Usually we have to corral her and insert our fingers into her fist. . . but she wanted it.
Just something we've noticed. . .