This kid just cracks me up.
I mean it.
While Jed was off with his friends in Maine for a four-day drunken reunion with his childhood buddies -- doing unspeakable things with raw sewage and soft-sided luggage (I'll say no more) -- we were at home trying to amuse ourselves.
Yet, even though I am usually exhausted by the end of the day, it always seems as if she's the one doing all the work.
We started off our adventures on Saturday by meeting my parents for breakfast in Chatham, where Annabel managed to Hoover something from everyone -- a little bacon from Amah's plate, a little ham from Mama's and some -- wait, what is he eating? "I don't want that" from Papa's plate -- not to mention scarfing down enough pancake and sausage from her own dish to make a trucker sated.
Next we stopped by American Pie (just because I can't resist the place) and Annabel informed me she would like to buy a present for her sister.
"Honey, you do remember that you're getting a brother, right?"
At which point, she looked up at me sternly and said: "I TOLD you I wanted a sister, right?"
Impassively, and without further comment, she put back the porcelain pig with purple glittery tutu and matching spangled wand and reached for the shrink-wrapped snake hanging from a revolving display nearby.
"He'll like this dinoserosaur. Let's get this."
Later, a trip to New York State Museum's Terrace Gallery carousel burned up another two hours of prime television viewing zombie-anizm. Lucky for me -- and her grandparents who came along for the ride -- she’s not too fond of the horses, preferring to take every spin on the stationary benches. I say this 'cause if anything can make me feel a little woozy it's a carousel horse and the mighty (unexpected) spin of the wheel. (Anyone else notice how fast those things go after it’s too late to get off?)
Next we proved multi-tasking is possible for toddlers (and expectant mothers) by going home and simultaneously baking sugar cookies and making dinner. The latter of which I can proudly say she managed to consume before the former.
But of course the BEST came at 8 p.m., when for some strange reason my stomach started to hurt in a worrisome kind of way that made me think if it didn't let up by morning I'd have to give someone in the medical profession a call and ask them to see what's what. I told her that my tummy, where the baby was, wasn't feeling too well and we had to take it easy and get ready for bed so I could rest.
She made a huge effort to climb into bed from the other side, saying she didn't want to hurt my belly. We read for a while and she quietly went to sleep 30 minutes later, in her own bed, with little if any protest.
In the morning she slipped into my room and peered at me with a worried expression.
"Is your stomach still hurting mama," she asked as if time didn't elapse during the night.
"No, baby, it doesn't. It feels a lot better."
Yup. She's a keeper.