Whoa

Nora seems to be completely in awe of the fact that she is able to sneeze. It's like she forgets about it in between sneezing bouts. Every time she sneezes, she'll say "WHOA!! Whoa....whoa. Whoa." She's pretty impressed with her ability to project snot from her nose and food from her mouth simultaneously. I don't have the heart to tell her she's not the only one with that talent. We'll save that disappointment for another day. She already had to endure the inhumanity of being informed today that she could not, in fact, eat two-day-old piece of chicken out of the garbage can. And let me tell ya, the day you learn that lesson is a hard day indeed. How can a mother rightfully deny her child the joys of eating a foul chicken carcass and blackened banana peel? Shameful.

Today was difficult for little Nora in more ways than one. I decided to really screw her up and take her to the Y with me and put her in the childcare there while I worked out. Well. She has informed me we will not be doing THAT again. As soon as I handed her over to the lady, she wigged out. No big deal...nothing new there. I walked by the room a few minutes later to peek in the window, and saw her leeched onto one of the childcare givers with her head on her shoulder. Sweet. That's like her favorite position, so I figured she was all good.

Upon my entry to retrieve her, I heard some of the ladies going "Wow, that kid must not like books, huh?". Yeah, apparently when the woman dared to sit down in a chair while holding Nora to read to her, she grabbed the book and pelted it across the room, beaning some poor unsuspecting kid in the melon. I must have forgotten to mention that when Nora is crabby, sitting down while holding her is akin to ripping her eyes out with sporks. Torture. Unforgivable.

Nora then saw me coming and flung herself dramatically onto the floor facedown and sobbed like someone just told her the world ran out of goldfish crackers. I tried to pick her up but she did her patented flop-on-the-floor-like-a-giant-dead-fish move. I swear when I finally did hoist her up, she gave me the death glare. Who knew fourteen-month-olds could shoot daggers with their eyes? Impressive.

Oh well. Perhaps at some point she'll be able to get the indignity of this horrible, loathsome, ungodly day and smile again.