Like a Holy Terror

Ms Maëlle is unlike any other child I’ve ever met. I swear, even though I’ve been parenting for six years, most often with her I feel like a damn rookie. This post is not about to win me any parenting awards, let’s be clear. But it’s funny as hell.

So last night was Date Night In for the parental units. Movie & beers in the basement. In an effort to stifle at least a bit of the noise that comes from three girls deciding which bed of their three choices to settle down in for the night (read: one million footsteps, three trillion giggles, one or two shouts, slam, bang, clunk, silence…) we shut the basement door. A solid hour into The Lincoln Lawyer, we hear teeny tiny running footsteps up in the kitchen. Followed very closely by the clicking of dog paws and nails. Maë and Dex are chasing each other around the stair case, crawling under the kitchen table, she’s likely stolen his bone and throwing stuffed animals at him. There are giggles and gasps for air and full-out belly laughs. It’s incredibly amusing to listen to…and loud. So, so loud.

Ryan & I laughed about it for awhile and then got engrossed in the movie again. Before we realized it, we couldn’t hear anything. I, of course, panicked. Because that’s what you do when the children are silent. I opened the basement door fully expecting to see one of the following things: 1) a total disaster, 2) the fridge wide open and milk everywhere, 3) the fridge wide open and blueberries everywhere, 4) Maëlle asleep on the floor of the kitchen/ livingroom/ hallway/ couch. I found none of those things.

This is what I found

Crawled back up into our bed, snuggled in with her blanket on my pillow and passed right out. What 18 month old does that?

Ryan’s answer? “My 18 month old.”

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Talk to Meeeeeeeeee

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