My little outside girl...
Every morning I was with them, Nicky brought her to me. Early. Olivia typically decided she'd had enough sleep at about 4 AM, and it was time to play. Most mornings, she was content to move from one game to another. For 30 minutes or so, I'd talk to her and play with her in my bed. Then, it was time to move on to the living room where Mr. Duck made his debut, she'd be presented her six new dresses, I'd read her a book from the meager selection that Jeff had already read her (he had made up a rule that he got to read every new book she had, so I had to patiently wait for my turn at the previously reviewed ones), then she'd get to play with her friend the plastic zebra. Sometimes, we'd walk around the living room and look at the paintings, and I'd show her the Lion King on my iPhone (which she loved). Some mornings, I showed her her toes and we talked about her nose, her tummy, and her fingers. Then one morning, she got mad. At something. At what, I don't remember, but she howled and yelled. Nothing I tried pleased her. Her head seemed hot, her skin overheated. Reasoning she needed a change of scenery and approach, I removed all her clothing except for her diaper, took her outside and went down the steps into the backyard.
The sun was just coming up and had painted the sky pink and gold, and the new day was already warm the way only a Texas morning can be warm--with radiant gentle heat you know will turn into a scorcher later. She gulped and drew in shaky breaths--oh, this is nice, she seemed to convey, as her screams subsided to wounded whimpers that abated quickly. I walked her around the yard a bit talking to her soothingly showing her the sunrise, then we settled into a lawn chair and fell asleep, she on my chest and me, holding her carefully with my cheek turned aside so she could cuddle her face into the crook of my neck. We woke up with Jeff laughing at us from the doorway of the house. "What do we have here?" he said. "She was hot," I said.
Thus began the understanding (by everyone), the little one likes to be outside. She likes to go for walks. She likes to look at the trees and the birds and the flowers. Any time Olivia became irate, out the door she went--her father, her mother, her grandpa all took her outside when she became irrational, and she would immediately quiet down. I will always remember her first sunrise and falling asleep together in the early morning sun:)
The sun was just coming up and had painted the sky pink and gold, and the new day was already warm the way only a Texas morning can be warm--with radiant gentle heat you know will turn into a scorcher later. She gulped and drew in shaky breaths--oh, this is nice, she seemed to convey, as her screams subsided to wounded whimpers that abated quickly. I walked her around the yard a bit talking to her soothingly showing her the sunrise, then we settled into a lawn chair and fell asleep, she on my chest and me, holding her carefully with my cheek turned aside so she could cuddle her face into the crook of my neck. We woke up with Jeff laughing at us from the doorway of the house. "What do we have here?" he said. "She was hot," I said.
Thus began the understanding (by everyone), the little one likes to be outside. She likes to go for walks. She likes to look at the trees and the birds and the flowers. Any time Olivia became irate, out the door she went--her father, her mother, her grandpa all took her outside when she became irrational, and she would immediately quiet down. I will always remember her first sunrise and falling asleep together in the early morning sun:)