This is the sweet and funny beginning to the inevitable end of Hazel’s infancy. She suddenly has an agenda that is entirely different from mine. For the record, I don’t know if this should be allowed.
For the most part, Hazel’s daily project involves moving objects that don’t belong to her from one location to another, then looking like innocence personified while mom or dad frantically searches for the missing remote/sunglasses/key/credit card.
Of course my book is in the cat house.
It only makes sense to litter the bedroom floor with packets of instant soup.
Today, Hazel wandered into the bathroom with an armload of clean diapers and emerged with a can of tomato juice.
It’s not easy to have my baby refuse to kiss me with a serious head shake and a firm “bo” (her toddler-speak for no). But my days are filled with an endless stream of one-year-old high jinx that provide amusing distractions for me.
And at the end of the day, the little monster turns back into my baby, and we have a good cuddle together, all the more precious because she is warning me with every step she takes that these days won’t last forever.