Wake up! I Wanna Play!

Twice a day this phrase blares from the confines of Mimi's bedroom.  Closed doors and solid walls cannot hold it back.  Granted, she does not put her request so concisely and ungrammatically.  In the morning, Mimi brings out her father with either a massive and piercing wail - which could wake a heroin addict from even the deepest stupor - or with sweet and gentle babble, which I imagine is her personal commentary on the skill with which she's thrown her bedclothes to the floor.  In the afternoon, between 2pm and 4pm, Papa will be called from his book or his writing with a gentle to aggressively insistent "ih-hi, ih-hi, ih-hi, aaaaaahhhhhhhh!"  No matter what, though, when I go in to get her, I'm always greeted with a sweet smile.  It helps to take the sting off those cut-short mornings and interrupted afternoon naps.  

Yesterday though, for the first time, this same phrase was uttered in my home with Mimi sound asleep.  That's right.  I said it.  I was bored.  I didn't want to read.  I didn't want to watch Top Gear.  All I wanted to do was play with my loveable, but insane, little girl.  And so, I wanted her to wake up.

I opened the door to her room.  On any other day this would be absolute folly, bordering on the edge of suicidal behavior.  But I didn't care.  This was going against every previous fiber of my being.  Each afternoon and each evening - and I don't think this is going to change, actually - I start yearning for Mimi's eyes to get heavy.  When they do, and she finally submits to the crib, it means I get a little precious time to myself.  This time is worth its weight in myrrh (and this calculation is done with each half-hour equating to 2 metric tons).  Here I was with time to myself - I could listen to music, play Gran Turismo, eat a burrito, read European history focused on the 1930s and 1940s, search for vintage audiophile gear, the possibilities were endless - and yet all I wanted to do was submit myself to the whims of a little girl who says "Wee!" like a chain-smoking and drunken Frenchman.

To be honest, our playtime gets more fun each day.  With each new activity I see more and more of her individual personality coming out.  Of course, sometimes it's unpleasant (random passion for or hatred of certain books, for example), but most of the time she surprises me and leaves me laughing.  I never really know what's going to happen.

Here are a few pictures of Mimi at play.  The first three were taken at the Children's Park in Golden Gate Park, which is just phenomenal on a sunny day.  Like her father, Mimi has a passion for water.  Despite the many toys and distractions, she always makes a beeline for the flooded section of the sandbox.  This makes for a messy stroll home, but she loves it!

And then there's the backyard.  Fewer distractions here, so yesterday Mimi decided she'd be mesmerized by the sky.  This was cute until our next door neighbor decided to introduce herself, for the first time, just as Mimi was pretending to be a pseudo-philosophical college student high on some very introspective pot.   

Me wanting Mimi to wake up, despite it resulting in less time to myself, has been a welcome development.  It's rather sad to think that before I know it Mimi will have little interest in playing with her father.  She'll just want to text her friends.  And that's why I need to make the most of the time I have with her now.  It's also why she's not getting an active mobile phone until she's 27.