On Her Last Week of Being Two

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The first thing she did this morning was spill her cup of water on the kitchen floor so she could "jump in puddles. I LOVE jumping in puddles."

By mid morning she was the Lotion Monster--a species covered in thick, white body lotion, ranging from the feet to the face.

"I am the Lotion Monster!" she screamed as I chased her down, slipping on her slimy tracks, unable to grasp on to any dry patches of skin as her little body slithered through my hands from room to room.

At lunch she wanted an apple juice mustache which is like a milk mustache I suppose but a more unattainable mustache--though it did not stop her from trying.

After lunch she woke up the sleeping baby just as I was about to take a nap of my own.

I actually cried at that point.

But then she lined up all the upper case abc's with their matching lower case counterparts, and I was so proud of her I forgot all about the missed nap.

(No I didn't forget. That is a lie.)

In the late afternoon she decided to freshen up (before daddy comes home!) and helped herself to my make up--mascara plastered all over her face, pink powdered cheeks and a generous helping of "Ravish Me Red" lipstick.

"Wow," I said when I found her hiding shamefully in her closet.

"I look like a bad guy," she said sadly to me, her face staring at the floor. And because I know how the application of make up can be awfully tricky, I decided to forgo making her wipe it all off.

"I think you look beautiful." I offered instead, and her Picasso-ed face lit up.

So we went downstairs and watched America's Funniest Home Videos while Dad made dinner.

 (A baby boy threw up all over his twin brother while they were in their crib and a lady's hair went up in flames when she tried to blow out her birthday candles isn't that funny har har har, MOMMY ISN'T THAT FUNNY?)

After dinner I let her have a scoop of ice cream for cleaning up the kitchen, "Look Mom, the kitchen is so clean now it sparkles" (and then pretended to whistle like, LOOKIN' GOOD).

Before going to bed she tried to convince me three times that her snow boots were "actually bed boots that you wear to bed" and only did she give them up while in the throes of my wrestling moves. There also may have been some tickling involved--just in that sweet spot above the hip and below the armpit.

At her request I snuggled her after I turned off the lights, and sang a little song in her ears and in a matter of minutes she was out cold, absolutely drained of a day.

I left her snoring a little, her face still plastered with my mascara, her skin smelling of woman's body lotion, her "bed boots" dutifully placed at the end of her bed where she'll put them on first thing in the morning, along with her diamond skirt and her stretchy "goldy" shirt she wears day in and day out,  and with the early sunrise and her rosy sleepy cheeks, we'll start all over again.

Photo by Justin Hackworth

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