Just when parenting deja vu starts to settle in, your toddler prances into the kitchen five minutes before dinner, announces that she's poopied and then hands over the end product, which she was considerate enough to scoop up (bare handed, natch) after initially depositing it onto the living room floor.
In six and a half years and three kids, I can honestly say that was a new one on us. Who says life with kids is boring?
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