I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,
And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.
He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head;
And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.
-Robert Louis Stevenson, A Child's Garden of Verses
Yesterday at the movie, Adriana was playing on the landing near the emergency exit. Just before I picked her up to take her back to our seat, she began pointing at the floor and whining. I looked at where she was pointing, but couldn't see much because of her shadow. I pulled her to the side so I could see if she had dropped something, but then she pointed into the area of her shadow again, and I realized that was going on: she had just noticed her shadow for the first time. I scooped her up and went back to where our friends were sitting, thinking that there was probably no line in her baby book for this particular developmental milestone.
Even though I had mentioned what had happened to Brian, I was surprised as I led Adriana toward the bathroom to brush her teeth before bed last night. As we walked into the bedroom, the light on Brian's bedside table cast our shadows before us onto the ground. Adriana stopped where she was and reached for my hand. She pointed anxiously at her shadow. "It's your shadow," I told her. "It's because of the light. It won't do anything bad." Nevertheless, she ran behind my legs. I called to Brian, who came in and made some shadow puppets on the floor for her. She seemed okay with that, but there was still something about her own shadow that made her uncomfortable.