1. The rules are changing quickly around here. I know I’m supposed to be keeping up, but I swear just yesterday I learned that orange runny poop was a-ok for a baby, and today she’s informing me that she needs MORE “pastetooth” on her “brushtooth.” Who knew that compound words could work backward and forward? (My apologies to her future English teachers who will get to grade her compositions and listen to the whine, “But my mom told me I could do it that way.” She’s too cute to correct just yet. Or ever. I’m in trouble.)
2. “Milk and cookies” are taking on new meanings around here, too. The after dinner treat tonight was divided into a cookie family: crumbs were Baby Cookies. Chunks were Mommy Cookies. The Baby Cookie cried. Had to be rocked. And burped. It spit up a bit on Little Friend’s shirt. She demanded a bib. And a burp cloth. It burped again. She fed it some milk. It made slurping noises.
3. Then she had no qualms about eating the Baby Cookie.
4. Should I worry?
5. February has proven to be frugal with snow this year. I’m not entirely complaining. But when golf ball sized flakes materialized at dusk tonight, I was just a tad excited. “Hot chocolate!” I announced as if this was the first snow of the season. We are all fans of hot chocolate, but one of us is particularly fanatic:
7. If February turns frigid in your neck of the woods, promise me you’ll wake up one morning and give this recipe for Maple Vanilla Roasted Pear Parfait a try. Reasons you should try it (beyond the fact that it lives up to its delicious title): A) It heats the kitchen. B) It warms the belly. C) It will have me running to your house for seconds.
8. Little Friend and I had spoon battles over scraping up the last dregs of butter-maple-syrup-pear-juice yogurt. I won. Because A) My spoon is bigger. B) My tummy is bigger. C) I have no scruples taking food from my babe.
9. But I let her get away with saying pastetooth. I’m a softie at heart.
10. Now, if you’ll excuse me please. I’m going to polish off the last Baby Cookies.