There are a gazillion times a day where I find myself looking at my kids and wondering "Who are you?" They do these things that just blow my mind and give me a teeny tiny niggling thought that perhaps, just maybe, they give me someone else's kid at the hospital. But. But then. But then there are times, like today, that I am one hundred thousand percent that I definitely have the right kid. To wit:
Jillian was in her crib for "quiet time" when all of a sudden she start screaming MOOOMMMMMYYYYY! MOMMY! MMMOOOOMMMMYYYY! I NEEEEEEDDDDDD YOUUUUU! I hauled it upstairs to find her pressed into the corner of her crib, crying and sucking her thumb. When I asked what was wrong she pointed to a spot on her sheet and said in her most pathetic voice, "There's a buuuuuggggg." Ding, ding, ding! That's my kid. I. So. Get. It. I have been known to freak the fuck out over bugs. It is irrational, but I do it anyway. It turns out the bug was actually a wad of dog hair and I was quite capable of dealing with it and we all lived happily ever after.