Because if I have to clean poop - LOTS OF POOP - out of a crib one more time...
Mags is on a terror lately. A. TER. ROR.
Anyone else dreaming of baby Prozac on this lovely summer's day??
So far, this week, Maggie has
- scratched her baby brother's little back SO bad with the back of a table. Yes, a table.
- spilt an entire container of raisins - expensive, organic raisins thank you - on the floor
- pooped all over her bed (three. times.)
- ruined one of my favorite lipsticks
- spilled an entire bottle of baby shampoo on the floor
- rubbed toothpaste all over the bathroom counter, and
- used a tub of butter as hair gel
It's only Tuesday.
I swear I supervise her. I do. But she's One of Those. She's QUICK. Stealth. Silent but deadly. And I can't watch her every single second because, have I mentioned I have three other kids? But one second is all it takes for Mags to cause some catastrophic damage.
Walker calls her our feral child - like one of those kids they would find in the woods who had been raised by wolves, or gorillas. Or evil little elves.
She constantly does things the other two never even dreamed of doing. Like this, for instance.
And the problem is...she's recruiting. And holding training camps in covert locations, like the pantry.
Oh, it's a good thing for her she's so stinkin cute.
Because cuteness covers a multitude of messes.