The pink in her cheeks spreads, covering nearly her entire face down to her neck. “I dunno.”
“What do youthinkhappens?”
“Th-they get spanked?”
“And they get their mouths washed out with soap. And I bet your eggs would taste extra yucky if that happened, don’t you?”
“Probably.”
The sulky reply nearly breaks my willpower in two and I have to swallow hard to keep the laughter from bubbling up in my throat. “No more arguing about the eggs then.”
“Yes, Mommy,” she says with an exaggerated sigh.
“Good girl.” Taking her hand, I lead her out into the nursery.
And wait.
I don’t have to wait very long. We’ve barely taken two steps into the room when her happy shrieks pierce the air and she drops my hand to race forward, dropping to her knees in front of the table where her new toy is proudly on display.
“It’s my oven!” Running her hands reverently over the plastic toy, she looks up at me, happiness shining in her eyes. And I know right then I’m a goner. That there is literally nothing in this world I wouldn’t do to see that look in my babygirl’s eyes. “Thank you, Mommy! Can I try it out? Please, please,please?”
I’d had every intention of telling her that playtime would have to wait until after breakfast. But god, I’m a sucker for the way that pouty lip of hers trembles ever so slightly as she begs, and I feel every bit of resistance in my body crumble.
“You may try out two recipes, and then we need to eat real food.”
“But itisreal food, Mommy!”
“Alexis.” I let a note of warning infuse my voice, despite the amusement still welling in my chest. “What did Mommy say?”
With another of those deep, from-the-soul sighs, she drops her shoulders and pouts. “You said I could make two and then we gotta have breakfast.”
“That’s right. If you’re going to argue, I’ll have Gavin return your toy and there will be no more shopping trips for a week. Am I understood?’
“Yes, Mommy.”
“Good girl.” Settling in the rocker beside her, I watch as she carefully selects which packet she wants to make, then tears it open to mix it with the bottled water Gavin so thoughtfully provided. I make a mental note to give him a hefty bonus at the end of the month for the care he’s taken with my Little girl as I watch her slide a pan into the oven and set the timer.
She’s enraptured, her entire face aglow beneath the wrap on top of her head as she waits for the oven to ding. And when it does, she again moves with deliberate care, opening the oven door and reaching inside.
“Careful, little imp. Don’t burn yourself.”
“Oh! Right!”
Slipping on the cherry-covered oven mitts laying on the table beside the oven, she reaches inside and pulls out a pan with two of the smallest donuts I’ve ever seen in my life nestled inside.
“Do-dos!” she announces, pride echoing in her words as she holds the pan up for me to see.
“Do-dos? What on earth are do-dos?”
Color creeps into her cheeks and she shrugs, carefully placing the pan on the table and removing her oven mitts. “It’s just what I called donuts when I was little and it sorta stuck.”
“Well I think it’s adorable. And they shall forever be known as do-dos here on the island.”
“Really?” Her face lights up. “You don’t think it’s weird?”
“Absolutely not. What kind of icing are you going to put on our do-dos?”
“Umm… pink!”
