I scanned the floor with Blake earlier today, searching for the ball bearings to a small maze he'd inadvertently opened and spilled, and I saw much more than I bargained for, but I reminded myself: Christmas. Be strong. Wear slippers.
Vesper finished lunch before me, so I let her out of the high chair, opened a magazine, and tucked into my own meal. About twenty minutes later, I looked down at her, leaning her head contentedly on my leg, and saw a sizable puddle around her. And numerous dots and puddles elsewhere. Her idea of fun these days is taking a mouthful from her sippy cup and slowly dribbling it out over her chin and clothes. Most of the time, we let her suffer in her damp clothing because while we'd prefer she NOT do this, it's not a big deal with water. The juice I had given her after a meal of bananas and cheese is an entirely different story. Why juice? Well, bananas and cheese. I wanted her to poop sometime in the next three days. Why bananas and cheese? Well, she vigorously defied anything else. Why defiance? If you have to even ask that, you've clearly not spent enough time with an 18-month-old.
And why can I observe all of this with a benevolent - dare I say indulgent? - smile upon my face? Check the post title again. It will make sense now.
|A previously unshared photo from 2008. You're welcome.|