My husband and I have established a routine in the morning. As with most working parents, we volley baby-related responsibilities back and forth during the weekday mornings as we scramble to get ourselves ready and out the door for work. Often times, those mornings are nothing more than a blur of frenetic activity and checklists and reminders to remember to do some odd errand during the lunch hour.
It’s is usually a well-oiled machine of efficiency. Most of the time.
And then, there are mornings like this. The Child has been freshly diapered, changed into day clothes, and fed a bowl of Cheerios. Into the playpen she goes for the 5 minutes it takes us back our cars out of the garage (Ballet du Commute, if you will) and prepare her bag for day care. Now what do you suppose she could do with 5 minutes? She could:
Throw every toy out of the playpen.
Locate her belly button. Again. And again. While making rasberry-sounds with her lips (a new favorite pastime).
Ah! Yes, the quintessential crowd-pleaser. She could TAKE OFF HER OWN PANTS AND WAVE THEM AT HER STUNNED PARENTS.
That morning The Small One stands before us, pants-less, triumphant, and gleeful. Her fist held high above her head, mocking us with her new flag of cottony pink infant-sized knickers.
Pink. The new color of parental defeat.
