Earlier this morning, Transpo (our relocation company, currently in the top three on my Companies I Loathe list) dropped off the contents of our shipment from Canada. We are now rich in correctly-fitting bedsheets, laundry stain remover (hurrah!), and Rock Band for PS3.
One unexpected item in the shipment was the bouncy ball that my mom bought for Sadie this past summer. It's sort of a special ball - it's filled with glycerin or some higher viscosity liquid with pink glitter suspended in it. Enthralled does not adequately describe the magnitude of Sadie's interest in this ball today.
After lunch, she was acting all weird and frantic and chattering urgently to herself. When I got a little closer, I actually heard, "Where my ball go? My ball? Where my ball?" and I almost went into shock right then and there, because my little one year, three hundred and sixty-four days old Sadie does not speak in sentences! I swear it's been two months since she put two words together to tell us anything.
Wanting to encourage further comprehensible discord, I joined her little search party. We looked downstairs in the dining room and kitchen, and then headed upstairs to the bedrooms. She peeked under Madeline's bed with me, down on all fours with her little bum in the air. "I don't see it!" she declared, toddling up and out to check out the hall.
Finally, "Here my ball!" echoes through the room and I see her wiggle out from behind a triangle cushion on the floor, glittery pink ball back in her hands, where it belongs.
My fingers are crossed that when Sadie wakes up tomorrow morning, she won't have lost her voice.