Ah, the mercurial nature of parenthood. 45 minutes ago I was forging war against a poop-encrusted 4 year old. Now I'm sitting in candlelight watching Home Alone with the gremlin-turned-toddler and his older brother, sharing a blanket and making memories.
I don't think it gets easier. I just think we get number.
P.S. When I say poop-encrusted, I MEAN POOP-ENCRUSTED.
You're welcome.
I don't think it gets easier. I just think we get number.
P.S. When I say poop-encrusted, I MEAN POOP-ENCRUSTED.
You're welcome.
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