Coyote

Sometimes the teachers at Lyla's school open the door that connects the two baby rooms and let the babies roam back and forth like free-range chickens. When I arrive, it's fun when Lyla has roamed to the adjacent room because then I can spy on her until she sees me.

Today was one of those days. In the center of the room is what looks like a kitchen counter island in a little person's house. Lyla was traveling its perimeter drunkenly, dragging one hand along it for balance. I stood in the connecting doorway until she saw me, at which point she let go.

On the old roadrunner and coyote cartoons, when the coyote would accidentally run off a cliff, he'd hang in midair until he realized where he was, at which point he'd plummet. The same was true of Lyla: for a moment she stood there, but then she realized she was unsupported and kerflumped to the ground.

In unrelated news, Julie got a look at Lyla's half-tooth. I tried to use her toothbrush to get a look myself, but her tongue and lip thwarted my effort.


But I did feel it with my finger. It's coyote sharp. Hopefully she won't be a biter.