While I was typing the previous post, which had to do with the post before that, guess what the girls did?
Sophie climbed up the shelves in the fridge and got the eggs. When I went out to the living room there was a carton of eggs on the couch. Sophie was holding one, and Willow had smashed one in her special egg smashing spot. There was another in Willow’s hand, and a cracked one in the carton.
I sort of flipped out. But not as much as I wanted to. Next time I get all morose about my baby turning three years old soon and start going on about how much I love little babies, remind me that they become toddlers. I wish I could lock myself in the bathroom and have a hot bath with a good book. Or something.