Baby is pulling my shorts leg. He's learned how to make things happen. And we're walking, we're walking... to...where else? The pantry. Of course we are.
"Uhn," he grunts, gesturing for me to open the pantry door, and I oblige him. "Uhn," he grunts again, reaching toward the third shelf, where the gigantic box of Goldfish sits just out of his reach. For emphasis, he removes his pacifier and throws it down into the floor of the pantry along with his little blanket, making a bold statement that his mouth is not occupied by silicone anymore and is ready and able to receive morsels of goodness instead.
"OK, you can have some Goldfish," I tell him. "But pick up your paci and blanky, please."
Fixated on the Goldfish box, he does not oblige me. So I lean down to pick up the cast-off items myself, grab the Goldfish, and set everything on the kitchen counter.
I look back down at baby, and he's fiddling with something on the kitchen floor.
"What's that?" I say.
He picks it up and hands it to me.
Oh. My. Word.
If you read last week's post, you will understand why I stared slack-jawed at the puzzle piece in my hand.
I really don't know how the piece made it to the kitchen floor. I thought it was long gone. Possibly flushed. But apparently it may have been residing in the floor of the pantry for the past week alongside potatoes and onions, and my act of picking up blanky may have rescued it and brought it forth. The way bits and pieces of little objects and little nothings float around our house is always so mysterious.
All I know for sure is that my missing piece came back to me from the chubby, dimpled hand of my son. Thank God I had not dismantled the Wysocki yet. So I immediately went and did this...
And I relished punching the checkerboard into its place. Very lightly but very resolutely. That can't be anything but good.
Does this turn of events negate my earlier post? On the contrary.
Being made whole...in time...is part of the big picture.