Seize the Squeals (and Raisins)

I’m a lackey to a certain blonde mini-person, aged 15 months, who regularly pilfers organic raisins from the bottom shelf of my pantry.  I’ve already mentioned in a previous blog that when she visits us solo, she becomes The Queen who also boldly throws open the doors of two lower cupboards and peppers the kitchen floor with assorted mixing bowls and measuring cups.  I’m her attendant: “Yes, Your Majesty - you may take possession of my house, Your Royal Babyness.”

This petite, diapered charmer rules the roost with her sweetly insistent little monkey-grunts: “Uh-uh-UH! Uh-UH!”  She points, squawks, and squeals to make her wants known, and I have no trouble understanding.  Get the balls down.  Open the bag of blocks.  Lift me up.   Go bye-bye.  Look at the birds!  I’m hungry.  I want water.  All done.  Get me down.

She’s a good-natured, easy child to babysit.  But just so you don’t think I’m a total pushover, I do reprimand inappropriate actions, like when she gleefully throws fistfuls of confetti-like puffed rice in celebratory party mode from the high chair.  “Nooooooo…no throw-down,” I scowl.  “That’s not what we do.”

She looks right through me with clear, guileless eyes as if to respond, “I hear you, and we’ll see about that.  We’ll see, Nana.” 

I stare into the deep, bewitched by those baby blues. 

It’s true that she has me wrapped around her very fragile-but-influential little pinky finger.  However, it’s a good place to be, since she, her two precious sisters, and their cherished parents will be moving away from our neck of the woods in a couple of months.  Carpe diem, I say - seize the enchanted, raisin-stealing, squealing, spoil-her-while-you-can day - for tomorrow may be comparatively predictable and silent.