Running the Roost

Last night, as I was telling Brigid that her third post-bedtime bathroom run of the night was going to be her last, she told me to 'take a chill pill'. And while I was giving her my best mom look, and explaining that we are NOT, in fact, allowed to tell our mommy to do anything of the sort, she laughed in my face, because she'd busted me trying to hide a smile when the words first came out of her mouth. And she had NO PROBLEM calling me out on it.

Earlier in the evening, she told Steve she didn't know if Santa Claus was going to come visit him, because he was being a bad boy. It seems that Santa does not approve of us getting angry at Brigid when she doesn't listen to us.

And in between those two incidents? She conned Steve into giving her dessert, even though she knew she wasn't supposed to have any because she'd stuck her foot in her watermelon bowl, after I asked her not to do that anymore.

(Don't even ask. These are the kinds of requests nobody tells you that you will be making someday...)

I...I don't even know anymore. There's not even any point to this story. THESE ARE JUST THE THINGS THAT HAPPEN IN MY HOME NOW THAT BRIGID IS THREE.

I've got nothing.