Abby is a doll and she's smart too. Sometimes, I think, she is maybe a little too smart, and I think that perhaps a little more SpongeBob and a lot less reading and outside fun is a great idea. You take that intellect and tag on a strong will to never ever nap - even when daddy is begging her to, then you have an issue which if left unattended can leave you with loads of trouble, or should I say a tub of...
Abby. It's time for a nap.
"No no no!" She replies with a musical lilt.
It's time. Let's go.
"No!" Less musical, more emphatic.
One. Two. Thr...
Up the stairs to her bedroom she advances like a midget on the sands of Normandy, because she realizes that "three" means I carry her and close the door sans story and song.
"You go second!" She instructs me pointing to the bottom of the steps. And honestly, at this point I don't really care - as long she gets up to her room for her nap.
Blinds drawn blissfully making the room dark but for the few patterns of light shining through the little slats.
"It's still daytime. There's light."
Yep.
I threw her in a diaper, knowing all too well that I would be removing a stinky package exactly five minutes after I depart the room. And I do. And she's very clingy at this point and wants nothing to do with her bed.
I took the poopy parcel out of the room, and descended to the study for a little reading and writing.
I forgot something and knew I should have retraced my steps, but she was making a horrible racket of banging and singing. I needed some alone time, and allowed the noise to crest and wain like a tranquil wave at a sunny shore.
The Vasoline.
About an hour later, I ascended the steps expecting a few things to be strewn haphazardly around the room. What I did not expect was Vasoline on just about every nook and cranny, including her bed, the frame of the bed, her newly painted wall, the newly redone floor, her pajamas, her belly, her hair - and then on my fingers and feet which made that hardwood floor a little more challenging to navigate.
Roar!
"Hi daddy." She coos.
Abby! Why - you? Roar!
"I make you happy!" Greasy smile.
Yep. Sometimes but not - right now!
I struggled. My hands caressed her bed frame through the stick, thickly applied goo.
She looked up me with those multicolored eyes, while sitting in her dirty clothes basket, knowing (the lil' scamp) that if she played her cards right the worst I would do is wash her clothes and her hair, and then write about it in one of my stupid articles.
Ab. You are absolutely right about that.
Abby. It's time for a nap.
"No no no!" She replies with a musical lilt.
It's time. Let's go.
"No!" Less musical, more emphatic.
One. Two. Thr...
Up the stairs to her bedroom she advances like a midget on the sands of Normandy, because she realizes that "three" means I carry her and close the door sans story and song.
"You go second!" She instructs me pointing to the bottom of the steps. And honestly, at this point I don't really care - as long she gets up to her room for her nap.
Blinds drawn blissfully making the room dark but for the few patterns of light shining through the little slats.
"It's still daytime. There's light."
Yep.
I threw her in a diaper, knowing all too well that I would be removing a stinky package exactly five minutes after I depart the room. And I do. And she's very clingy at this point and wants nothing to do with her bed.
I took the poopy parcel out of the room, and descended to the study for a little reading and writing.
I forgot something and knew I should have retraced my steps, but she was making a horrible racket of banging and singing. I needed some alone time, and allowed the noise to crest and wain like a tranquil wave at a sunny shore.
The Vasoline.
About an hour later, I ascended the steps expecting a few things to be strewn haphazardly around the room. What I did not expect was Vasoline on just about every nook and cranny, including her bed, the frame of the bed, her newly painted wall, the newly redone floor, her pajamas, her belly, her hair - and then on my fingers and feet which made that hardwood floor a little more challenging to navigate.
Roar!
"Hi daddy." She coos.
Abby! Why - you? Roar!
"I make you happy!" Greasy smile.
Yep. Sometimes but not - right now!
I struggled. My hands caressed her bed frame through the stick, thickly applied goo.
She looked up me with those multicolored eyes, while sitting in her dirty clothes basket, knowing (the lil' scamp) that if she played her cards right the worst I would do is wash her clothes and her hair, and then write about it in one of my stupid articles.
Ab. You are absolutely right about that.
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