I first realized this about a month or so ago when we were watching cartoons on a Saturday morning. It was The Backyardigans (darn it, now the song is in my head), and it was the first time Lydia had seen the show. Suddenly, she sat down on the floor, fell back with her head hitting the hardwood, staring straight up at the ceiling.
Well, I freaked. My God, I thought she was having a seizure. I got over to her quick as a flash to find her fine and smiling at me. I'm all, "Do you need some water? Milk? Want me to hold you?" It was only later that day we figured out her game when she did the same thing four or five times at her Grandma's house, grinning slightly.
This week she's picked up a new Drama Moment: pretending to pout when we get to the bottom of the steps before climbing in the car to go to school. As soon as we're off that last step, she turns toward the corner, hangs her head and shoulders and waits for me to notice. Once I come tickle her or pick her up, she's fine, but if I waited in the car for her, I'd be sitting there until the cows came home.
Once we get to school, she has another Drama Moment with one of her classmates. They apparently growl back and forth at each other all day while I'm not around, but at that first part of the day Colin (which she pronounces more like 'Cognac') comes running up to her, hands up like a dinosaur: "Rawwwwwrrrr!"
Lydia turns into me, melting into tears, though we all know she'll be growling back at him in five minutes' time. She just needs to try out her newfound drama skills.
Poor Colin just looks confused at the reaction. Girls: you won't figure them out at two; you won't figure them out at sixteen.
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