our eight weeks is up

wily little thing
superhero steel stomach
makes me cry sometimes

That wasn’t a very good haiku, but you have to forgive me. First, the wee-er one woke up with both eyes almost swollen shut. We called the doctor and made an appointment. Then she slammed her fingers in the closet door. We kissed them and felt better. Then we had a lady come walk through the house to tell me how much it will be for her to scour it from top to bottom (not too bad, though she did seem a bit dazed to be accosted by a noisy dog and a toddler prizefighter).

And then.

Then we had a bit of a catastrophe. You’d think I’d be used to these things after the wee-er one has eaten rocks, sipped old beer from the trash, sucked on an imodium, gobbled up some pirate’s gold, etc. But it’s always a shock to have to call poison control.

Here is the aftermath:

There is no such thing as childproof with this kid.

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3 thoughts on “our eight weeks is up

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