The Girl Who Learned To Kneel

Elsie lies beside us indicating that she is ready to face the day. Her not so subtle hints: constant animal like movements in every direction. Splayed on her back then quick on her knees rocking like an eager puppy; now back into downward dog chanting doo-be-doo-be-doo, then summersault back to prone. Repeat.

The best part is when we lovingly knock heads. Or better yet, when she uses my throat to leverage her standing. And fair enough. Mattresses make for tricky standing ground when you’re a toddler.

“Can you give her something to play with?” I ask Simon groggily hoping I can be the one to turn over while they settle into more dainty play. Away from my head. “Maybe the tube of handcream or a book.” I drag my hand across the carpet and emerge with John and Judy. “Here.” But I am too slow. Unfortunately for my skull, Simon has already handed the energizer baby a wooden statue.

“I suddenly feel very unsafe.”