Rub-a-dub-dub and all of that. Abby is no longer rockin’ a baby bath – she thinks she is so grown up now! All crawly and sitting up in the bathtub and splashing and terrorizing her brother, (taking all the cars. All of them. All the time. Cars. She needs. This is a first world problem).
And yesterday I gave her birdie bites of a bran muffin. Which means she’s had butter and sugar and flour, and oh my. The smallest amount, but still. Next it will be french fries and pizza crust. Oh the things that I never thought I’d feed my wee ones. Ha! If even for a rare treat. (More like: momma is exhausted and haggard and french fries and ketchup ream squees of joy and pure toddler bliss. I know this now.)
Alas, I digress from what this post is really about – which was bound to happen because:
a.) I am me. And…
b.) Any new milestone that a momma encounters with her babe (especially in their 1st year), conjures images of all such things and then some. It’s like the brain surges at warp speed begging for time to slow down if even just a smidgen, because. Babies. LOVE.)
So. Back to the littles having bath-time together. The weekend proved to be a successful first round of such. Only the tiniest amount of sliding, with lots of splashing and much joy. There isn’t anything much cuter than babies and toddlers having a grand old time in the bath together. Mine specifically, after the jump.
More on the Babbles …