It’s hard to remember sometimes that I’m girl, and not just a cooking, scrubbing, taxi-driving, laundry-folding, and hair brushing wiper of small noses and hineys with chipped toenail polish.
But someone thinks I’m sexy! And smart! My head is swelling! My pride is bursting!
Pop.
Never mind. My two year old just drug her sleeve through bbq sauce and flung it all over the dining room. Plus I think I smell something funky.
