“I’m two. Don’t f*** with me.”

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My now four-year-old Stumps was a high-strung newborn who would routinely scream from 4-7 pm every afternoon for the first four months of her life. So when the Jellybean came along nearly two-and-a-half years later, we didn’t know what hit us. Beanie was such an easy, happy, laid back baby that it was uncanny. No amount of antagonization was going to provoke Beans into fussing. I remember asking Husband more than a few times in those early months, “She’s so chill. She never cries. Do you think there’s something, you know, wrong with her?”

Beanie’s amiable and easygoing temperament was quite fortunate, all things considered, since I am pretty certain I said “Leave the baby’s head alone!” to Stumps at least twice a day that entire first year.

Fast forward to now, and in hindsight, we now know Beans was just stockpiling rage to unleash upon the pitiful creatures of this world throughout her toddler years.

In other news, they are eating a meal at an actual table (see Items #3-5) , so we can consider that progress.

If anyone would like to propose a caption for what the comic strip thought-bubble above my twenty-two-month-old’s withering glare might read, I welcome submissions!

{Edited to add: When you click on the picture, it is not at all blurry, so not sure why it is blurry embedded in the post?}

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