Two tigers

     On Monday, Clara made off with the belt to my bathrobe.  She put it in a loop on the bathroom floor.

     "It's too tired, Mommy," she said.

     "What's too tired?  Who's too tired?" I asked, rubbing semi-pricey age-defying lotion into my cheeks.  Clara held out her paw for a squirt and carefully rubbed it on her belly.

      "It's too tired," she repeated.

      "Well, maybe it needs a nap," I suggested.

      "No!!!! It's too tired!"

      As I have for the last several months, I leaned in close to her and squinted, trying to fathom what she was saying.

      "Say it again," I said.

      She looked at me for a moment, clearly pained.

      "It's too tir-gud," she said.

      My mind worked and worked through its tired convolutions.  And then a spark.

     "Rarrr," Clara encouraged.

     "Tigers!!!" I shouted.  "It's two tigers!!!!"

     "Yes, Mommy!" Clara beamed.

     "There are two tigers in the bathrobe belt loop on the floor!!"

     "Yes, Mommy!  Two tigers.  Daddy tiger and baby tiger.  'Whaaahhh, whaaaahhh.' This is the baby."