You may have already assumed - which is dangerous, I know - that Bella is the name of a baby doll. Ellie's baby doll, in fact. Ellie is two. She has exactly one cousin and two friends who don that very name, and now every child has taken on that identity...including her baby dolls (emphasis on the plural). I actually applaud Ellie for her naming efficiency.
Our tale begins this very afternoon as I was engaging in a little playful interaction with Ellie and Bella. As is often the case during such occasions, I will hold any one of the Bellas and pretend that they are real babies - all of this for Ellie's amusement, not my own. That would be incredibly weird. And before you go and think I'm a softy, you should know that these father-daughter play sessions are not without their disturbing qualities, which I'm careful to include so that my masculinity remains well in tact. I hold Bella, hug her, snuggle with her, talk in baby gibberish to her...and then I usually end up dropping the simulated infant on its head with great fanfare. This typically incites much heartfelt laughter from both children (the real ones) and adults alike. I may occasionally improvise if a coffee table is near by, or the corner of a wall, or - as is the case with this particular occasion - the ceiling of our living room.
I was holding Bella the baby doll (one that looks eerily similar to a real Bella we know), tossing her playfully into the air, each time getting a little higher until, WAP! The baby doll made forceful impact with the ceiling, and fell to the floor. We reveled with delight.
That is until moments later when Ellie tried to mimic such behavior, throwing Bella's hard plastic head into my eyeball.
Bella had her revenge. It was cold, indeed. But I feel inclined to remind her that accidents still happen...and there's a rocking chair very close at hand.
I've said too much.