Yesterday, I had the following conversation with my three year-old:
"Uh-huh"
"Uh-uh"
"Uh-huh"
"Uh-uh"
"Uh-huh"
"Uh-uh"
"Uh-huh"
"Uh-uh"
Childish, yes, but I still won.
And Madeline fell down the stairs. I think that she fell, once, about six stairs in our rental house in Newfoundland. But she was two years old then, and now she's half-way to eight. There were screams, shaking hysterics, ice pack applications to a cut on the back of her head. If she had been sleeping beforehand, I would be inclined to blame her spill on grogginess, but this was before she'd gone to bed for the night. Heads bleed a lot more than skinned knees, Chris and I realized.
And a book recommendation: How to Be a Baby ... by Me (The Big Sister). Perhaps part of my infatuation with this book is the hilarious and on-the-nose performance Madeline gave while reading it to, but gosh, I was totally laughing. The little girl in the book comes up with lists of things that her infant brother can't yet do, and they are humorously inappropriate, like "can't slam dunk a basketball" and "can't use a stapler".
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