This morning The Bean woke up not quite her usual giggly self. No, I'm actually not being sarcastic...for once. The kid wakes up like the world is full of opportunity and awesomeness and that good things will definitely be happening today. This is not a trait she inherits from me.
But this morning the giggles were grunts. And grunts only mean one thing...the first diaper of the day was going to be a particularly dirty one.
Oh well. I no longer think twice about wiping snot or spit up on my newly cleaned shirts. It's safe to say my standard for gross has been raised.
I was not, however, prepared to be face to face with biology happening as I changed the morning diaper. It was looking at me and I was looking at it and The Bean was busy gnawing on the box of wipes. In true mother fashion, I quickly closed her back up in her dirty diaper - why change two diapers when you can change one?
I set The Bean up with a copy of The Wall Street Journal and gave her quiet time, but she was making a face I knew all too well. A face she did inherit from me. A face which read "Please dear lady, make up a good story about how I died. Don't let people know that my undoing was piece of poo that simply refused to leave my body."
We tried giving her pear juice, but The Bean has come to the conclusion all food should be white, liquid, dispensed from a boob or bottle and rhyme with filk. Everything else is most likely poison. We tried having her walk around the house, despite her actual inability to walk. We tried coffee (no we didn't). And still, just fruitless grunting.
I feel bad for her. Really I do.
Payback's a bitch kid.