I remembered hearing the near empty package of Oreos drop to the ground, but hadn’t given it much thought until Gigi seized it and began flinging it around the kitchen.
I had left the package on the counter last night. There were three cookies left. I ate two. That meant that there was a lone cookie in that package taking the full brunt of abuse that a 13 month old baby hopped on raspberries and milk could muster.
It will be crushed to bits!
I watched at she whipped the package across the floor, crawled over to grab it, and then flung it against the oven door only to grab it again and mash her full body weight onto it. She squeeled with glee at the crunchy noise the package made.
The sound of my cookie crunching!
I briefly entertained the thought of taking it away from her. But she was having so much fun with it I just couldn’t do it. Plus, I didn’t want to think about the crying that would follow. She took a fast crawling start and flopped her body on top of the package giving a war whoop as she did. Crumbs flew out from beneath her as the wrapper ripped and the container buckled.
Goodnight sweet cookie. Goodnight.
Eventually her attention turned elsewhere. Two dish towels to be exact. I tenderly retrieved the package from the floor and placed it lovingly on the counter. As I pulled the top part of the packaging back I braced myself for the gruesome scene of my pulverized cookie.
The package was empty.
Oh man. I was really looking forward to eating that cookie.