Only My Child

If I could get the two-year old to pick lotto numbers, I think we'd be all set. Either that, or they need to start paying me to watch her for physical comedy ideas on Kelly Ripa's sit-com or something.

I took her to the grocery store (well, first we went to the bank and they wouldn't let us use their restroom even though it was apparent she was in dire straits). Anyway, we made a beeline through produce and made it to the potty on time. She did her business. Somehow, she'd managed to get her shorts off one foot and they were hanging around the other ankle. She does a little kick maneuver and the shorts go arcing over and...yes...into the bowl. Pre-flushed.

I had two choices. I could have left, gone home and got her new shorts, or I could just go on about my business. I chose the latter. So, we went on our merry way through the aisles sans shorts. The silver lining is that her underpants did NOT suffer the same fate as her shorts. Ergo, if anyone saw a curly-headed two year old at the Lambertville Kroger's today wearing nothing on the bottom but bright, pink Dora underpants--um...that's what happened. :)

Aghhhhhh.