Amalía went to Nicaragua for Christmas. Everybody in Nicaragua loved and adored her and picked her up and carried her. Nobody put her down for two weeks. Amalía smiled at everybody, even the Santa Claus in the department store.
She went to a beauty salon where her bangs were cut. Her Abuela Carmen held her in the barber’s chair so she wouldn’t wiggle.
Amalía loved her haircut.
After all the excitement and attention in Nicaragua, Amalía came home to Miami Beach. There she found a new jumper chair. It had as many bells and whistles as a three-ring circus, but when her Mommy put her in it, she was not happy. Amalía wasn’t interested in all the toys and rattles.
She sat in her new jumper chair and gave her Mommy a plaintive, pitiful look that said, “Why am I stuck here like a prisoner in solitary confinement? I want somebody to PICK ME UP.”
In the end, Amalía’s Mommy picked her up and put her in her red stroller. Amalía was happy again, because she knew she was going outside for a walk on Lincoln Road. Soon she’d be surrounded by all her fans making a big fuss over her—the waiters in the Italian restaurant, the ladies in the supermarket, the policemen, the boys on their skateboards. Amalía likes being a super star.