A recent 4:30AM. Tallulah is happy-kid babbling in her room. Just as I'm falling asleep again, she starts wailing. Not that Come-Get-Me-I'm-Bored-Wanna-Watch-Dora-Now kind of whining-crying. This was more like Rabid-Raccoon-Dropped-from-Sky-into-My-Bed kind of dying-crying. We were prepared for blood.
She wasn't cold, wet. thirsty, sick, bloody or maimed. The marker that she uses to draw in notebooks before bedtime had run out of ink. Gave her another one, put her back in bed. No problems.
I think our just-turned-two year old girl is trying to tell us something: The inability to create = Agony.
I just saw this. Cute! (She must take after you.)
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