This morning Lilly wandered off into the Laundry Room, which is a place that is borderline forbidden. The dog bowls are kept in there, and she passes the kitchen trash can on her way, which sometimes becomes a dumping spot for her shoes, blankie, magazines, socks, etc. My mom even witnessed a cell phone go in recently. We try to keep the gate closed, but that blocks the dog from getting to his water... but let's be honest, the truth is we usually just forget to close it.
Today I saw Lilly round the corner into the kitchen as I was watching the news and I didn't think much of it. As the pitter patters became silent and the familiar clip clip of the plastic dishes in "her drawer" were nowhere to be heard, I stood up to check things out. You know those huge buckets of paint that professionals use for exterior painting? They have a picture on the outside of a baby head first in the bucket with a big line through it, warning you not to let your baby play near the bucket. I'm always terrified I'm going to find Lilly head first in Midas' water bowl, just like that picture. Granted, it's a glass mixing bowl and she would tip the thing over the second she fell on top of it, but that's what goes through my mind when I think "Ohh, I'm so comfortable on the couch. I don't want to get up to check on her. She's probably fine. ...Baby on the bucket!"
So anyway (this story is actually a funny one!) I walk into to the laundry room and find Lilly staring at the garage door. The same one she's standing in front of in her Valentine's Day pictures. The lights are off, but the kitchen lights are on, casting an exact shadow of herself on the door. She says to her shadow "Hi" and smiles. But the shadow doesn't respond back. She says "Hi" again. No response again. I'm watching from a couple steps back and can tell that she is confused, but she doesn't know I'm there, so I whisper, "Mommy's here" so I don't startle her. She doesn't move. "Lilly, Mommy's here." This time she looks back, and her chin starts to wrinkle. Her bottom lip comes out and she looks back at the shadow. I walk over to pick her up, sad for her. But instead of waiting for me to walk to her, she comes to me, looking over her shoulder at the shadow. I realize she is scared now! "Who the heck is this dark monster and why won't it talk to me??!"
We got out of that dark laundry room and snuggled up on the couch. Hopefully the Laundry Room Monster will be enough to keep her out of there for a little while!
Thank you, Laundry Room Monster;)