Our Widdle Baby

Our little tiny, precious, happy baby. The one that was never truly tiny. Born chubby and hairy, happy and with full appetite. Still, our baby. She's three. Turned three years old yesterday. Still chubby. Still hairy. Still happy. Total freaking monkey, though. Today she broke open a pen and DRANK the ink. Surely this is something normal children do not do? As I was cleaning her up, I may have muttered a word like "stupid". She burst into tears, tears that hadn't occurred to her as I was railing against all that was inkified. She sobbed to me, "I am not stupid! I am a very, very nice girl!"

Yes, she is. She is a nice girl. Yesterday we had an absolutely delightful picnic in the park to celebrate. She was delightful and sociable. She thanked everyone for coming and appreciated each gift. Then we came home, she slept and the next day she DRANK INK FROM A PEN!

She is a veritable gold mine of embarrassing stories. If she doesn't like our telling these stories when she's older, that's just too bad. She should have behaved better. I have a sneaking suspicion that our little show-off won't mind too much when we tell her embarrassing stories to her boyfriends. Heck, she'll probably tell them herself. Maybe even with a bit of reinactment. Goodness, Baby, stay away from the ink! (And the poo!!)