Feet, mama

Ian takes her up at bedtime to clean teeth and put jamas on, and I get summoned when shes ready to go to bed. The last few times she has run out on the landing yelling “Mama! Mama! Ready!” And as I climb the stairs I ask her where her feet are.

“Where are those feet?!” I ask, and she pokes each one through the spokes of the banister so I can tickle it.

Tonight i heard her run out on to the landing, yelling “mama! Mama!” But this time she yelled “mama! Mama! Feet!” And when I climbed the stairs, I was greeted by two little onsie-pyjama-clad feet poking through the bannisters, ready to be tickled as part of our silly bedtime routine.

The pace at which she picks things up astounds me. I’ve been able to eat jelly babies around her willynilly because she refused to try them, but then the other day I offered her one, expecting her to turn her nose up at it as usual, and to my dismay, she accepted it. So I gave her a couple and she ate them then asked for more, so I palmed off a few of the black ones because they are my least favourite, figuring, kids just like all sweets, don’t they? I only eat red and pink sweets now, but I’m sure once upon a time I ate all sweets. Then I put the packet away and said, no more, maybe tomorrow.

Tomorrow rolls around and lo and behold, who do you think marches I to the kitchen and points at the jellybub packet I thought was out of sight? So I gave her a black one and she looked at me in disgust and said “No, mama. Pink. Come on.”

So now not only do I have to share my jellybubs, apparently she’ll only eat the pink ones. Aka the only ones worth eating.



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