Sadie turned two this week. Two. Two, two.

Two.

She seems so very new to me still.

Maybe that’s because she still is new in comparison to her older siblings, or because she’s a wee peanut of a person next to them.

Or maybe it’s because she hasn’t fallen asleep before 10:00pm even once in the last two weeks, which puts me in mind of her newborn days. Could be that.

Probably it’s not the sleep thing, but having an awake (awake! A-WAKE!) toddler night after very late night has sapped my ability to form coherent thoughts, let alone coherent sentences. (There’s nothing wrong, she’s not sick or anything, she’s just been spectacularly unsleepy. Either she needs to nap less, or she’s adjusted to the time change three weeks too soon.)

Last night the three older kids were in bed by 8:00, and Dane was out, leaving Sadie and I to our own devices for the duration of the really long evening.

“You know what?” I said at this point. “Let’s get out the sewing machine!” She can put pins in the pincushion, I thought, and maybe stack the extra spools of thread. Often she enjoys such activities.

“Sewing?” she said, all scorn and condescension. “I don’t wanna do sewing,” she said, as though I had just offered her a snack of soggy bread, or suggested that she might like to sleep in wet grass.

“Oh,” I said, “right,” and instead we settled in for yet another evening of sitting on the couch with Bear and Doll and Blanket and Quilt (which is entirely different than Blanket).

We read stories and sang quiet songs. She tried to jump on the couch, I said no. She undressed her doll. I redressed her doll. She reundressed her doll. I kissed her on the forehead, she kissed me on the nose. When I could think of nothing more to do, it is possible that we watched an inordinate amount of Sesame Street: Old School.

And I suspect we get to do it all again tonight, and tomorrow night.

Ah, two.