Catching Up With the Little Lady

The Little Lady

 

The Lady, my Little Sister, and the Little Lady with a barrette up her nose.

 

Yesterday morning, as I lazed a bit in bed on my day off, I heard the Lady say "Why are you in the sink?"

Since both QT and my husband were in bed with me, I could only assume she was talking to the Little Lady.

She was.

I found the Little Lady sitting inside our bathroom sink. Since all the stools were put away for a showing over the weekend, I can only deduce that she used her ninja skills to climb up onto the counter. 

She was wearing only pajama pants and had opened the medicine counter. 

Surprise, surprise, she had surrounded herself with moonie cream, a spray container of Neosporin, children's cough medicine and an opened bottle of infant acetaminophen, the red cherry version, which she had clearly dipped into. 

Now, I am not sure how she opened the container, it probably wasn't shut tightly, but after doing a quick breath test it was clear that she didn't actually ingest any of the medicine, although she had found a way to get it on the floor, the bath mats, the sink, and all over her hands. 

She at once delights and confounds me.

She has also stopped sleeping in the crib at night, which is fine, except she is now sleeping on either a cushion or her crib mattress on the floor next to the Lady. This creates a few problems:

1. She is mobile

2. She has access to the light switch

3. She is keeping the Lady awake 

4. She is constantly coming down stairs with some problem or another to be addressed, such as "it is spooky upstairs," "my purple ponytail holder fell out again," or "my bed is wet." The bed is wet because she spilled her milk on the mattress. She is insistent that she doesn't want a sheet, so it is easy enough to wipe down, but apparently too damp for her to sleep on. 

She then climbs up on my bedside table, climbs over me and QT and situates herself in the middle of our bed where she proceeds to chat about whatever comes to mind, or in the case of last night asks to smell the birthmark on my husband's face, because if it is called a "strawberry mark" logic has it that it must smell like one too.