Baloney is two.
2 years ago, I was being gutted on the 2 inch wide operating table. Complete with doctors talking about golfing, and Chinese food. As if sucking goo out of my stomach was a forethought to won ton crackers. Waiting for my little punk baby that went out of her way to make sure she was calling the shots. After all, who really makes their mom sit through TWO frickin' amnios, still the lungs not high on the lung o' meter, but has a head full of hair and nails? Who kicks the amnio needle OUT of the belly? Should have known then who she would be.
She is a hellion, her own way, her own time, and pretty much is drawn to messes like a tornado to a trailer park.Just yesterday she ruined the mouse for the computer, in between the time I walked downstairs to start dinner and her dad walked upstairs. Her timing is impeccable, that's for sure. Today she woke up at 4:00. Because apparently on your second birthday, sleeping through the night is overrated. Yelling "Mommy, light on, light on." I so wanted to show her what lights out was. BAM! SO kidding, pick up your jaw.
She's 2. She's here. Thank god for naps and margaritas. Margaritas for me. Not her. Tequila wouldn't phase her anyways. I'm not a lush, really, but some days I do see why moms eat their young. I can't even take a picture without her stealing my thunder. I guess a little nose pickin' never hurt anyone, but geesh, could the kid wear some clothes?