Tantrum

So, it was time to leave the playground this afternoon, because the diaper needed changing and I hadn't brought any, because the girl was rubbing-her-eyes tired and weaving around the playground trying to eat gum wrappers and pigeon feathers. So I picked the girl up and headed for the stroller. Upon seeing the stroller, the girl locked her legs around my waist, gripped my arm and shot me a look. Ignoring the look, I detached her and aimed her for the stroller. At which point she arched her back and howled like I have never seen her howl. She didn't see me giggling I'm sure, since her eyes were squeezed shut and she was concentrating so hard on bending backwards and stiffening up and yelling. I picked her up again as the row of nannies checking their blackberries as they pushed babies in the swings looked up to see what I was going to do. I looked at her. She'd stopped arching and screeching and was sitting comfortably on my hip surveying the playground. She grinned. I tried again with the stroller, thinking if I got her in there quick and started pushing she might not even notice. She noticed. She arched and screeched and hollered and turned red. The nannies grinned and kept on staring, their charges left un-swung. I noticed that when she yells that loud, you can see all of her eight teeth at once, which is hilariously adorable. So we played a little more at the playground, in spite of the diaper. She whacked the slide a few times, crawled under the climber after an acorn, was hugged around the head by a toddler. When we left, the three of us (baby, stroller, mama) were together, yet not in the usual configuration. Baby on hip, happy. Stroller empty and pushed one-handed, probably happy enough. Mama, bemused and slightly lopsided, wondering about all that is to come. . .