Priorities

Reagan has one doll. She pulls her pants off, tucks her in under a little doll-sized quilt, kisses her face and points to her doll's nose if asked where it is. (She assumes our short term memory is less than adequate, I think. She always looks at me curiously, sighs and then points AGAIN to the doll's nose as if to say, "Mommy, it's right HERE, right where it always is when you ask me. Good grief."

The doll (who is nameless) lives downstairs in the family room toy box. Yesterday afternoon after playtime I announced it was time for supper. Reagan jumped up and scurried to the staircase like usual but this time she was carrying her doll. When we mounted the stairs, Reagan insisted on climbing them herself...while struggling to hold her dolly in her hand. I offered multiple times to carry it for her but she refused. So clutching her baby in one hand, she pulled herself along with the other one, bumping her chin on the steps several times, looking back at me to make sure I was following and dropping her beloved child now and then. Each time I thought she'd go on up without the doll but each time Reagan stopped and went back for it until we made it all the way to the top. Then she stood up, doll in hand and raced to the high chair.

She and Dolly squirmed impatiently while I prepared her sippy cup of milk. I started piling food on Reagan's tray and she quickly realized something. She was out of space. Something had to go.

So despite all her efforts to carry that wild-haired, pink-wearing doll up the stairs...she literally tossed it over the side on to the floor where it landed with a sickening thud. I turned around from the stove to see her look down at it wistfully, then eyeball her fist full of rice and cram the entire thing into her mouth. "MMMMMM," she said.

Again, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.