This morning Little A. woke up earlier than usual - not by TOO much, but just enough to render the FYD grumpy. He checked on her and determined she would be better left in bed until a more suitable hour. But after a little while, her pathetic cries (Maaammmaaaa Maaaammeeeee *sob* Maammmaa? MAAMMEEE!! ) compelled me to roust the poor guy, to change her diaper and fetch her milk and carry her to me in bed. We're still at a point where there is much cuddling and I take advantage of every instance, knowing that all too soon there will be shouting and door-slamming and I-hate-you-ing.
So the cuddling commences, Little A. gulps her milk, and we settle in for a few more quiet minutes before breakfast and Curious George time. All at once, she turns to me, puts her chubby hands on my cheeks, squeezes, butts her forehead onto mine and whisper-shouts a drawn-out interrogation -- "Whhhyyyyy?" -- right into my face.
Why? Why..what? Why, indeed? I had no idea how to answer, or what, really, was the question. I burst out laughing, and she laughed too. I told her she was too young for existential questions, and besides, it was too early, so instead she grabbed my hand lotion (a recent obsession), put some on her baby doll, and all was well.