I Mean, Literally

 

When we had our first daughter, we knew we had done something right.  Linsey was a wonderful baby, she began using complete sentences around 18 months, and she would sit for half an hour or more, just looking at books.

Then Hannah came along.  A colicky baby, she was still using caveman grunts at age 2 to communicate.  And even now, at three and a half, she falls out of her chair at least once a day because "my body can't stop wiggling!"  She's also our sensitive thinker, our best snuggler, and she keeps me laughing all day long.  One reason she's so funny is because she thinks very literally.   The other day I heard her (literally) bouncing off the walls after bedtime, so I headed for her room.  I saw a pink blur dash for the covers and lie down innocently.  "Hannah," I said sternly, "were you jumping on the bed?"

"No," she said seriously, "my feet just were tired of lying down."  The next day, she weedled all over her bed "because you told me not to get up for ANYTHING!"  Sigh.  What to do?!?

Earlier this summer we flew to Chicago for vacation.  As we were getting our luggage, Hannah announced she had to go potty, even though she had just gone (this is what bouncing does to toddlers).  Tired and slightly irritable, I told her she needed to hold it for awhile.  A minute later, I looked up as she grabbed her bum and danced frantically, "I'm holding it, Mama, but I still gotta go!!"  That's what happened, literally.