So the other day, my daughter walked into the kitchen. She looked pathetic and adorable in her pink jammies in the middle of the day. I looked less adorable in my sweats and my sicklady top-knot. We had matching red noses and chapped lips. We both looked slightly bleary eyed and confused. I was drinking hot tea. She was carrying her little pink doll, "Baby," the doll who goes everywhere with her. Her brow was furrowed and she was rubbing a spot on Baby's forehead.
"Oh shit," she said. "I sneezed on Baby's head."
I made a note to myself to talk to my husband about our language. But at that moment, I just wanted to douse that Baby with some Windex.
|No more F-bombs and I mean it!|
Parenting. I'm winning at it.