Anyway, earlier this week I started off the day by spilling approximately 1500 hair pretties all around the toilet. Fortunately I have a little helper who loves both the potty and being right where I need to be.
Izzy would probably like to be in my arms during all the waking hours that don't involve kitties or doggies, but sometimes things just gotta get done. When those things are kitchen things, we've reached a compromise. Instead of being actually held, she can stand on a stepping stool or sit on the counter. For some reason, that generally seems to make things okay. Maybe it's because she can see what I'm doing; maybe it's because being in a slightly precarious position is dangerous and edgy; or, maybe it's because she can touch all sorts of things she is not supposed to. Postulate among yourselves.
Evidence of my dedicated domestic helper!
(She had a plastic blue knife, so there was a lot more stabbing and poking than actual chopping on her account.)
(This also mostly involved stabbing, but this time with a spoon.)
(Of course, she had to draw on the wall before she could clean it off.)
Is this officially a mommy blog now, or has it always been one and I've just been in a state of denial? Next time we'll do something uncharacteristically deep and meaningful.