He was lying on his belly on the fluffy carpet in his bedroom, propped up on his elbows with two small toys in his hands, and those toys were having a serious conversation.
His little eyebrows furrowed, his face stern, and the pitch of his sweet voice dropped as the little horse scolded the car in his other hand. “You drive on the road!”, the horse told the car. “Sorry, Horsie. Sorry I ran into you,” was the car’s reply. Then they continued their imaginary journey.
He used to rely on me to guide his play and direct the events of our pretend adventures, but now he creates his
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