I heard them laughing in the other room. D was changing Bean’s diaper. “Peekaboo!” he kept saying, “Peekaboo!” so I knew she must have initiated the game again. Then he came into the bedroom holding her and they stood looking at me for a moment, both smiling. She was gripping the bottom of her sweater with one hand. Suddenly she grabbed it with both hands and yanked it up so it covered her face, then lowered it, watching me closely. “Peekaboo!” I shouted. She immediately pulled it up to cover her face again, her arms straight up like a doll’s, exposing her pink polka-dotted onesie belly. The sweater was silver, lightweight, button up the front. Her cheeks flushed, fuzzy hair static from the sweater, so pleased she might burst. I can’t think of a better game than peekaboo.
D says this afternoon he saw M, who had pulled herself up to standing at the toy chest, suddenly let go with both hands and balance, free standing for a brief moment before crashing down.
And at dinner they passed a spoon back and forth, first M grabbing it from B, then B grabbing it back, the whole time both of them laughing away.