- I am never, ever going to wash my bathtub. Molly has created a beautiful Early Toddlerhood Abstract Expressionist piece that is so pretty. Her medium of choice is bath markers. She’s in a period of using oranges and blues together and somehow they aren’t mixing but are maintaining their respective hue integrity and it. is. Awesome.
- All last night she did Midnight Molly Twitters. That is the name I gave them in my insomnia-addled mind. She wakes or half-wakes at the most every 45 minutes, with a brief commentary in her limited not-even-two-years-old vocabulary. She says
-Dada? Mama? No.
-Num. Um, num. NUM-a-NUM!!! (This is when she actually wakes and demands to nurse.)
-Wah Yee. Wah Yee! No num-a-num. Wah Yee! *huge tear eruption* (This time I have to get up, fumble in kitchen, realize there are no clean sippy cups, find a bottle, fill with water, and screw on the nipple, all mind you with one hand while my other half-sized one is holding the almost-limp-with-drowsiness-munchkin on my hip. Why warm milk was suddenly offensive I have no idea, but after the angst of being up, I fell blissfully asleep watching her hold her bottle like it was Her Preciousssss because I was off duty at last. Until the next Molly Twitter.)
-Num. Num-a-num. Mama!!!! NUMANUMMMM
-No. Mama, no!
-No. *whine sounds*
- This continued all night long. So I
sold her to the gypsiesgave her to the grandies for the day and night. Had a nice blissful nap and some sexy dream that was House cast inclusive. Thirteen is hot. Have I told you? She is hot.