This here bringer of the pooper to the fun party

My big girl

Leta must be experiencing a growth spurt because she has eaten three full meals a day for several days in a row. Jon and I both know that this probably won’t last, so every time she eats a good meal we shower her with positive feedback like, “Such a good girl!” or “What a big girl!” or “Look who didn’t give Mama a heart attack! YOU! YOU DIDN’T GIVE MAMA A HEART ATTACK!”

Tonight she ate several peanut butter crackers and a small serving of pasta, a veritable feast considering that one day last week she ate nothing but mustard, and when she was done a smile exploded across her face in anticipation of the praise she had earned. Before I could get a word out of my mouth she screamed, “A good girl, huh?” And she kept repeating huh? because that’s all Jon and I ever do, keep asking each other the same question over and over again because the other one stopped paying attention two sentences ago.

“Yes,” I gushed. “You are the best girl.” It was one of those moments as a parent that make me so drunk with pride that I really thought I could prove that fact objectively.

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