After her bath last night, TM and I walked into her room to prepare for daddy to come up and read a few pre-bedtime books.
Every night is the same, although as she passes quickly through these developmental stages, she tweaks the schedule to fit her expanding needs. It used to be I read to her, nursed her, sang to her, and put her down. Now, after I bathe her, I dress her (unless she wants to read in the nude), daddy reads, I sing, and I put her down.
Anyway, after we had walked into her room and satisfied her obsessive desire to turn on and off the overhead lights multiple times, and before daddy had been summoned, I realized that I had left her comb in the bathroom.
I said to her, “I’ll be right back!,” and walked out.
A few seconds passed and she screamed, “Mom! Mommy! Be carefoo!”
And so I stopped, went back to her room, and said, “What is it, sweetie?”
Quickie sidenote: I just typed, “What it is, sweetie?” and thought that was way funnier. But I digress …
TM responded, “There a dragon out dare,” pointing to the dark hallway.
“There is? Where?” I asked. “Can you show me?”
“Yes, it’s out dare!”
SLAM! She rushed to close the door. For our protection, I suppose?
I knelt next to her and asked her if she would mind holding my hand and walking with me into the bathroom so that we could get her comb and said, “Mommy will protect you and we’ll tell that dragon to go away! Okay?”
Notice I didn’t say, “Sweetie, there is not dragon out there.” Because if she thinks there’s a dragon, can we at least agree that we aren’t dealing with a rational person?
Warily, she agreed that holding my hand would do the trick. On our way out the door, I yelled, “Good bye, dragon! See ya! Go home to your family, DRAGON! Stop messin’ with us!”
Once we were in the hallway, the dragon was (POOF!) gone.
All was well until today when it was time to go for a walk and I asked her to put her toy down until we got back.
“Why don’t you just put it over there on the chair and it’ll be right here for you when we come in the front door,” I told her.
She wrestled with that idea a bit before deciding against it. “The dragon’ll get it dare.”
“Where’s the dragon, sweetie? Can you show us where it is?”
“Over dare!” she gasped, pointing to nowhere in particular (but everywhere, too, I guess).
So I said, “Why don’t you put it in the kitchen, up on the island, and the dragon won’t be able to reach it.”
She marched her toy over to the kitchen and left it atop the island, far enough out of reach of the dragon, for sure. Then she turned around and wagged her chubby little finger at me and said, “No dragon get it, no, no, no.”
Yes. And she is so cute I could have melted all over the dragon.
And tonight she and daddy came home from Petsmart with a pink stuffed dragon present for Mr. Gabe. Daddy said she didn’t know what it was at first, but then he spent the ride home talking about how fluffy and pink and sweet it was. What did Gabe do? He promptly tore it to pieces, leaving its body parts strewn about the living room floor. A good thing? Not sure, but maybe she sees him now as a dragon slayer.
Do/Did your toddlers do this?