I wake up, I stumble out to the living room where my kindly husband has been minding the tot while I try to catch up on sleep. I stand there, the bun grinning madly from ear to ear at the sight of his disheveled mom. He hobbles over to me, hand over hand like a chimpanzee along the coffee table to meet me where I am, and with a flourish of mastery* over his improving balance, lets go of the table while grabbing onto my pajama pants. Which then fall to the ground in a Vaudevillian heap. Good morning, world!
*Speaking of "flourishes of mastery," he learned to clap yesterday. This has been great fun because for the first time he can participate fully in a game of "call and return" with consciousness. Before, he would stick out his tongue and then we would stick out our tongues, or blow raspberries, or what-have-you, but this is the genuine article: he claps once, we clap once. He laughs at the expectation of our clapping, and then he claps a few times. And we return the favor, ad infinitum.
Damn, I love this bun.