The name of the moon

Sophie is developing by leaps and bounds, it seems. She can now distinguish between play and ordinary life. Piling the sofa-pillows up on the floor, diving under the bed-spread for a half-hour of squealing, giggling uproariously when she spills some food on herself when we’re out and I just lean in and lick it off like I’m a cat-momma, because no washcloth is handy: she now knows what’s silly, and it makes her laugh a lot. She laughs when I make funny noises at her. It’s almost as if she gets my jokes, but of course she only gets the jokes that involve noises like “chugga-chugga-choo-choo.” Still, it makes hanging out with Sophie infinitely more fun – even though she’s also using her new communications skills to ask me to change her shoes seven times a day.

Today we read Mr Brown Can Moo, Can You? and she actually did moo and buzz and even cock-a-doodle-doo, right on cue. It was as if she understood the questions the book was asking. 

Every day she asks me to teach her new words. Today she wanted to know the name of the moon.

And on Monday, when we went to a kids’ concert, she was dancing and waving scarves and maracas around with her usual deep joy, until she started to get overwhelmed by the screaming children in the audience. Then she just calmly took my hand and led me out. I’m so proud of her. She may not have the common-sense that it takes to stop climbing on table-tops, but she does have the common-sense to quietly decide when she needs to leave someplace stressful. 

Is this too much boasting? It’s just that I see her little thoughts evolving from “Oh no I’m wet and sticky” to “Oops, I just spilled and made a mess and now my tasty drink is all gone” to “Hey, momma is licking me to clean me up and that’s just so silly it’s hilarious.” There’s whole new ideas going through her head. Whole new obsessions with shoes and trains and play-dough and the diving-under-the-bedspread game. Whole new realms of delight.


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