She's getting worse.
This morning I was trying to wrap-up work stuff for the week, and she handed me an Oreo to "open" for her. (She only likes the middles. Um, for breakfast? I don't know. It's Friday.) Instead of twisting it and handing it back to her, I absentmindedly popped it into my mouth.
I wish you could have seen the look of horror on her face as she cried, "No! Mom! Spit it out! Spit it out!" There were tears. So many tears. (I know that they were really tears of "I can't believe that hooker ate my cookie" and not "I'm so disappointed in your dietary choices," but --)
I can take solace in the knowledge that she's tough because she cares. During my afternoon workout, I was making some really
Me: "I'm okay. It's just hard."
K: (comes in, puts a hand on my face) "You're very brave."
Then she looked at me a little while before adding, "Your hair is really big. You need a haircut."