sweet and sour

Picture this: I walk into Claire's dark bedroom early in the morning. Her shades are still drawn and her lids are still closed. As usual, I click on her soft lamp and whisper, "Good Morning, Claire". She begins to stir but is still not ready to greet the day. So I open her closet and start pulling cute little clothes for her to wear. Along with the chosen outfit, I grab a pair of socks, a diaper ,and a wipe and place them on the floor where I will be changing her. By this time, Claire has arose enough to start whimpering for me to pick her up.

As I walk towards her, I smile at her rosy cheecks and bed-head, and wonder how long she'll be little enough to keep sleeping in her crib. She's getting so big, and I feel a little sad about it. I pull her to me for a nice warm cuddle. "What a sweetheart" I think to myself. We cuddle for a few more minutes until I realize that if we don't get moving, I will be late for school. I lay her down and start to take her jammies off. While I change her diaper, I grab her little heels and gently pull her feet up so I can swipe out the old diaper and exchange it with a fresh one. As her bum is at the peak of height . . . she FARTS . . . loud and long . . . and then laughs hysterically. I too, die laughing and wonder, "Did she wait for that particular moment to rip one, or was it just a coincidence?" Before I ask her to "say excuse me", I decide that if she can time out a fart at the age of 23 months, then she is a comedic genius. That's my girl! :)