The best thing about a baby's second Christmas is that she's more likely to enjoy it -- especially when she's as verbal as Thea has become sliding into month 20 of her time on this mortal coil.
When we pulled into Lewis Ginter Botanical Garden this evening, the sun had set and the sky was darkening. Thea had no real clue what we were talking about when we told her we were going to "see the lights", and proceeded to gawk with amazement as we turned into the parking lost -- past the gigantic LED butterflies at the gate.
By the time she was in the stroller and could see the glow of blue lights on the bushes outside the main building, Thea was clapping her hands, flailing her feet, straining forward and yelling, "Lights, yay! Yay! Yay!"
She sat back and soaked it all in as we strolled down toward the Children's Garden (which now has a very mod, curving bridge giving quick access across the lake) until she saw him. "Man!" she exclaimed. "Yellow man!"
Yes, the Yellow Man. The man who must be touched to be believed.
The stroller was soon discarded so that she could run as fast as her tiny feet could take her to the top floor of the massive tree fort, then sat on a stump staring out the window at the illuminated gardens.
Ladies and gentlemen, we have ourselves a fixated baby.
Fortunately, we picked the perfect evening to visit. The weather was mild, Thea was energetic but not out-of-control, and we both actually had enough energy to move.
We also got a taste of what a motor mouth we're raising. (Somewhere, my long-dead father is smirking.)
"Water. Train. Buddy. Woman. Woman. Woman. Lights. Water. Fish," she muttered as I carried her to the car. She was still muttering to herself as she went to sleep.
Particularly about the house down the street we visited before heading home. You're good, Lewis Ginter, but you're not tacky lights good.