Little L, C, and I were snuggled deep into the couch going through an impressive stack of board books.
“Judy can pat the bunny, now you pat the bunny!” I read for the fourth time when C put her hand on my arm.
“Mama? Can you pause please?”
“Pause? What do you mean, pause?”
“Can you pause the book? I’ll be right back.”
I’m thinking maybe we need to cut back on the Tivo…
After the truly painful sleepless night two days ago I caved at 6:30 and pulled Little L into bed with me for some sleepy cuddles. Nearly catatonic with exhaustion I settled myself back into my pillow, shut my eyes, and let one rip.
Little L sat up, pulled out her pacifier, looked at me with wide blue eyes, and asked “Wah da?” in a shocked and awed tone.
“That, was a toot. A bit loud toot.” I mumbled as I pulled her back down into my arms.
“Oh. Heh. Heh.” She answered with a big silly grin. “Founy.” Because clearly, there’s no such thing as being too young for potty humor.