I never thought I’d see the day when my dear son would be the angelic looking child in a photo.
Our sweet Baby G is turning into a bit of a spitfire.
– (points up)
– The dog barked at her, so she spun around to face it and went “ROARRRRGH!”.
– Payne put on his PJs and yelled “Ta Da!”. Exactly one second later Genevieve tore around the corner clapping and searching wildy for, you know, the reason she was clapping.
– She farted on my leg, then looked at me and said “Whoa”.
– Yesterday morning she got up early, and I handed her a smoothie in a sippy cup I had MacGyvered to hold a normal straw. We headed for the couch with my precious cup of coffee. As soon as she saw we were headed out of the kitchen she started screaming. I plopped her down on the couch and she threw a grade A fit. She arched her back, pushed out the alligator tears, sobbed openly, and batted the obviously unacceptable smoothie away.
I knew what she wanted, my friends.
After 15 minutes of hysterics, my desire for peaceful coffee consumption outweighed my better parenting instincts, and I went back into the kitchen. Still wailing, Genevieve followed.
As soon as I opened the pantry she calmed, and started industriously searching for one of her preferred plastic bowls within the Tupperware cabinet.
I pulled out a cardboard box. She looked up and saw a box, hysterics resumed.
I pulled a crinkly bag out of the box, hysterics ceased.
I won a suspicious look of approval.
I pulled a carbohydrate out of the bag, cut it up, and dumped it into her bowl.
She victoriously marched back to the couch and made her wishes known with a pointed glance and “Uh!”.
We resettled on the couch, she happily disposed of her breakfast that was first housed in a crinkly bag (and it must be a crinkly bag, folks, the contents of the bag then transferred to a bowl of her choosing. Every. Morning.) THEN, oh, then she picked up that damned smoothie and happily slurped away.
After every swig she would stop and go “Ahhh!”.
Translation: “Mmmm. Tastes like victory.”