It was St. Patrick’s Day, I think.
That would have made her 17 months to be exact.
We were trying to beat boredom and fussiness with some crafts. We brought out the finger paint, which she had used a few times before. I knew right away things were going to be problematic. She was upset to find out her daddy would only open one color at a time.
So, of course, he let her open two.
Then, she became upset because she could only paint on the paper.
So, of course, he let her paint his hand.
He painted hers a little, too.
After this photo, there were more objections, more whining, which turned to crying, which resulted in Miss Pea being “excused” from the table, I’ll say.
What happened when those feet hit the floor was something else. She threw herself on the floor as hard as she could. Butt first, then the upper body followed. She continued to roll around squealing at the highest octave she was capable of and Andrew and I stood and watched in disbelief. In fact, I think we laughed (without her knowing). We were just in awe of the acrobatics and the show that was being put on before us.
This was the first.
There have been many more.
There will be many, many more.