Yesterday morning Kaiya was a little more clingy than usual. She wanted to be close; she wanted to be held. She did not want me to let her go, to put her down and let her scamper off like most days.
This presented a challenge in making her bottle, one "baby" routine we all still cling to. Every morning, I pour Kaiya a bottle of milk, heat it up, and then often sit with her and read a book.
Having Kaiya in my arms made this task much more of a challenge. With Kaiya supported by one arm, I pulled the milk out of the fridge, got the bottle ready, and started to pour. This proved difficult since we were at the beginning of the milk bag, and well, bottle openings are not particularly big. I spilled the first bit, and realized I needed to re-adjust. My Kaiya-carrying arm was threatening to fall off, so I leaned her up against the counter to ease some of the weight and carry on with the task. She didn't like being placed on the counter and tried to scooch back up, into my arms, whining. I was trying to somehow pour the milk and keep from dropping my daughter at the same time when suddenly, "WHOOSH!" The entire milk container toppled on its side, milk pouring all over the counter and onto the floor. I mildly gasped, keeping my cool for little one's sake.
But Kaiya decided the whole ordeal was just too much and started sobbing. And every time she looked at the mess, she started crying harder. Seeing how much the mess distressed her so, I put her down and tried to clean things up as quickly as I could. But the combination of being out of my arms and witnessing the catastrophe of milk was just too much for Kaiya bear. She cried and cried, and I had to abandon my clean-up effort to sit on the floor, pull her into my arms and give her a great big hug.
And there I sat, laughing, as I consoled my child, saying (all together now....) "Oh honey, it's no use crying over spilled milk!"