Rosemary truly can be a pill, and she often is, everyday. But she is at that age when everything (almost) she says is pretty darling. These are the few I remember from the past few days:
Lulu is on the early track so from the time I get her up to the time I hustle her out the door, it is a race. Yesterday, as she was putting her socks and shoes on, I yelled: Hop to it Lulu! Rosemary who was sitting at the counter eating breakfast said: Lulu isn't a rabbit momma!
Rosemary is also at the stage where she is laying down some serious manipulation. Bottom line is, she wants to be treated like a big girl while simultaneously being treated like a baby. She often wants me to carry her, which leads to the: my leg hurts, or my throw ups, or the token "cough". Last night, at bedtime, she refused to walk across the bridge that joins both halves of our upstairs. She pleaded with Brad to pick her up and carry her. When asked why she couldn't walk she said, pointing over the railing, speaking in her most dramatic whisper: it's dangerous dad, it's dangerous.
1 comment:
How cute. I maintain that three is the hardest age EVER. But I've only just begun on the whole teenager thing, so I'll keep you posted.
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