Nambie Lambie.

Okay. So Rudy's affection for her Lambie continues to grow. And we have three of these stuffed animals that are in steady rotation according to wear and level of filth. I went ahead and took that precautionary step after losing Sally in P-Town and, I think, the original Lambie in Northampton. Rudy knows that there is more than one Lambie. She's seen at least two together, and has experienced the exhilarating high of snuggling one in each arm at bedtime. If Lambie falls into a mud puddle, she holds it out to me and asks for me to give him a bath, and then she tells me to get "anudda Nambie."

And now she likes to cart around accouterments for her Lambie. Like several small bags filled with pastel plastic baby bottles or toy spoons or diapers for baby dolls. She asks me to swaddle Lambie, she carries him in the crook of her arm as though she's going to rock him to sleep, and she marches around with him smiling a proud little smirk, and tells me that Lambie is her baby.

This is all the back story for what happened yesterday, when I was crouching beside Toot in the hallway and asked her for a hug. Usually, she obliges, but then, she didn't, and then I did the cliche parent thing where I pretend I'm so sad that I'm going to start crying. Rudy, not impressed, scurried away to the playroom. Whatever, I figured, and then asked Marley for a hug. She was perched in her usual seat on the corner of the couch and nodded enthusiastically with her arms out, so I plopped down beside her and we snuggled a little.

Then Rudy came back smiling and saying, "No, Mommy. Be sad! Be sad again!" And I thought she wanted to see my great performance again so that she could turn it around with a Toot hug. But as I started by moving my mouth into a frown, I realized what she was doing and why she had gone into the playroom.

She moved closer, with a big smile, holding out Lambie for me. Because when Rudy is sad, or crying, and often when she's crazy hysterical and needs to calm down, she screams for Lambie. It was such a sweet gesture. I never want to forget it, especially the bright-eyed, expectant look on her face as she held out one of her most precious things to me. Thanks, Rudy. It cheered me right up.