there’s simply nothing holy about it
If Blythe has ever heard Shakespeare’s infamous metaphor about the world being a stage, she has no doubt taken it literally, of course delegating herself to the leading role. I took this picture at the zoo a couple of weeks ago where she escaped the child-saturated playground to arrive at this undiscovered outdoor stage. After taking her rightful place, she proceeded to sing.
This same charming songbird has also recently taken it upon herself to reintroduce me to waking up in the night (due to her incoming molars), often with an incessant, whiny cry interspersed with “it hurts,” or “excuse me, mommy.” At least for the most part, she’s polite. But, somewhere in the middle of this two week blur of sleepless nights, a zoo trip, a space exhibit, and Christmas cheering, Blythe decided to spice things up one day by aborting naptime for the pleasure of decorating/painting her crib and all other inclusions with her poop. That’s right, her poop. She had taken off her diaper, smeared the contents into her sheets, pillow, bumper, and favorite furry companions; apparently tried to wipe herself using her two favorite loveys (“two bankies”); and discarded the remains onto the floor. When I opened the door to this soon-to-be-quarantined scandal, all my poopy-fingernailed girl could say was, “wow. poop everywhere.”