I've been trying to write an entry all day, but in a fit of motherly adoration (read:insanity) I decided to keep my baby home with me and not send her to daycare, since I had the day off.

Needless to say, having a squirmy 6 1/2 month old on one's lap makes typing an interesting exercise. Typing with two hands is beyond comprehension, but even typing one-handed is a rare adventure since Precious Babykins is able to twist with more dexterity and flexibility than a Cirque du Soleil contortionist and can get her foot up onto the keyboard while I am attempting to type with the hand that is not being covered with drool from Teething Girl. Perhaps I should go ahead and let her type with that foot. Though it would probably be something on the order of: "For the love of god, help me get away from these two morons who claim to be my parents! I'm sick of wearing pink ruffles!"

And after the 73rd time a tiny little fist wrapped itself in my hair and YANKED, I decided that the mop is going to get a chop. Not short. I look like a boy with a serious hormone problem with short hair. And I really do like having the long hair. But maybe layers will make it a bit less yankable.

Sheesh. Just when I'm ready to put her up for sale on ebay she tips her head up to mine, puts a hand against my cheek and pulls my face down to hers so that she can slobber on my chin in her version of an Anna-kiss.

Okay, kid. You can have milk for another day.