Oh God, an afternoon spent chasing Toddler Flails-a-lot through the Ikea sofa department has left me boneless and mindless. Psycho Bambi is on a couch search for her new home with Kal-El and I was there as moral support. Why I decided to do that with Toddler Flails-a-lot is a mystery. A stupid, stupid mystery.
I keep basing my expectations of toddler behavior based on the past few weeks, but each week is a month in baby time. Last time she bounced on some couches and then sat in the cart and drew happily for twenty minutes. This time she leapfrogged from couch to couch for hours. She fell in love with the bunk beds and refused to come out of an armoire until she successfully completed a pull up. Disquieting, but impressive.
Psycho Bambi and I left defeated broken shells of our former selves. Toddler Flails-a-lot took Husband-cat for walk when we got home while I curled up in the fetal position on the couch. She's more tornado in clothes than baby. At this point, I can't even remember what I was going to write about. I think moose featured prominently. Like why the singular and plural is moose. Or something.
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