Isla is one year, two months and fifteen days old, and refuses to sleep on anyone's terms but her own. She
It's not only the sleep department that receives her special directives. As previously mentioned, she is also the queen of her own plate. Isla only yesterday broke her recent carb-only diet regime with her first ever bites of "dino-chicken". The management award for this success goes to her Dadoo who was able to persuade the young gourmet to take that first taste. Until that amazing moment, she was, as that same daddy pondered, a candidate for scurvy, or possible rickets, as her diet was solely pasta of varying shapes, rice, and bread.
Today during lunch, she refused all of her mother's attempts to feed her pasta (what?), instead demanding with a firm 'uh, ahhhneee, uh, ahhhneee' and a finger point that what she must have, and indeed would eat, was the bowl of leftover jambalaya sitting in front of mama.
Will she wear socks? No. Or, maybe yes. It all depends on her mood. Will she wear her sister's underwear on each arm and her head? Yes, especially after her mother takes the first set away from her. Will she pour milk down the back of her booster seat? Yes. Will she cooperate during a diaper change or put her hand in all the yucky stuff? Yucky stuff, all the way. Should she climb up the ladder on the swing-set? No, but she will do it anyway, despite what her parents sternly command. Will she eat her cheerios or place them carefully down the front of her onesie? Depends. Sometimes the answer is both. Sometimes they end up on the floor. Will she like the same things tomorrow that she does today? Probably not, but then again, what kind of fun would that be for anyone?
It is certainly a benefit to her that she came out of the womb as adorably cute as she did. At the end of a long, night-turned-day-turned-night-again, it's those sweet little baby smiles and soft little baby giggles that help keep her more-than-exhausted parents smiling as well.
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