The Hunt for Kiki

This morning when I woke up, I went to check on Kiki. Just like normal. She’s usually cuddled up on her bed with her blanket and yellow sunshine toy (Ni Ni), but this morning she wasn’t in her bed. I blinked in the dim room like she might suddenly appear. Still no Kiki.

So I backed out of her room and jogged down the stairs.

I figured that she'd probably tiptoed by our bedroom and was rummaging through a box of cereal so when I rounded the corner I expected to find her sitting on a stool with a guilty grin.

But she wasn’t in the kitchen either.

So I started to search. Quickly! Her playroom. The couches. Our den. But I couldn't find her anywhere.

The panic set in.

I shouted upstairs to enlist Jon and Karly in the hunt as I ran to the front door (locked). And the back (also locked). And then to garage.

When we still couldn’t find her, I did what any mom would do—I started screaming her name, hoping to wake her up if she’d fallen asleep in some odd place. And praying that somehow she hadn’t disappeared.

Finally, Karly yelled down to me from the second floor. “I found her!”

I rushed up the stairs, my heart about to spring out of my chest. Kiki was in her bedroom, half asleep, snuggling in her Daddy’s arms. She looked up at me like I was crazy.

I reached out to hug her. “Where was she?”

Karly shrugged her shoulders. “Under the bed.”

I crouched down to look under the frame. I have no idea how she squeezed under that tight place in her sleep, but I’ve never been so grateful to find my baby. It was a heart-stopping morning with yet another reminder of how thankful I am for our girls.