Bunny came in a minute ago in a different shirt. When she saw my calculating expression ("Why isn't she wearing the shirt we dressed her in this morning????"), she said (and used very nice hand motions to stress the importance of her statement:
I have new shirt on, Mommy. My other shirt got wet. My sparkle-shirt got wet, so I put on new shirt.
And I asked her, levelly, "HOW did your other shirt get wet?"
I spray my hair to comb it in the bathroom. And my sparkle-shirt got wet."Okay. Your hair looks very nice. Cany ou put this bag of hair pretties on your bathroom counter, please?"
Or how Bruise was singing earlier:
A-B-C-D- Little Star ... How I wonder -E-F-G
Yeah, there are times (in between the wanting to rip out my brain to STOP. THE. WHINING. or the bemoaning the time that I could be sleeping/reading/not buying diapers) that being a mom is TOTALLY where it's at (And, no, Beck. I do not have two turntables and a microphone.)
(And, yes, everyone else, I do totally realize how much that lyric-quote has dated me.)
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