—
Emma: “There are 2 girls in our house. Two girls and 1 boy.”
Me: “Yep! What about when the baby gets here?”
Emma: “Then there will be 3 girls and 1 boy.”
Me: “You’re right! Good job!”
Emma: “And when daddy turns into a girl, there will be 4 girls!”
—
Emma (playing doctor): “Here’s the buttercream…and here’s a bandaid. Ok, it’s all better!”
—
Me: “You did poop in the potty once. Now you need to do it every time.”
Emma: “I don’t WANT to poop in the potty every time.”
Me: “(sigh) Well, I hope you won’t still be pooping in your undies when you go to college.”
Emma: “I don’t WANT to go to college!”
—
Emma: “F…u…n…”
Me: “Do you know what that spells?”
Emma: “No.”
Me: “It spells fun!”
Emma: “No it does NOT spell fun, it spells good morning!”
—
Me: “Ok Emma, we have two choices — we can go out to dinner, or we can stay here and have eggs and hash browns. Which do you want to do?”
Emma: “Um…ummm…ummmmmmmm…I want to play with my toys.”
—
Emma is in the middle of her massive Father’s Day meltdown, thus far impervious to my attempts to calm her down.
Emma (crying): “I am NOT sad!”
Me: “Well you certainly don’t seem happy.”
Emma (still crying hysterically): “I am HAPPY! I am VERY HAPPY RIGHT NOW!”
—
Me: “Emma, you need to share that cookie. Can you give Daddy a small bite?”
Emma: (breaks off the absolutely teeniest, tiniest piece possible) “Here Daddy.”
—
Emma (frowning): “Oh! My book hurt me!”
(Yep, she learned what a paper cut is.)
—
Me: “Emma, you need to share that cookie. Can you give Daddy a small bite?”
Emma: (breaks off the absolutely teeniest, tiniest piece possible) “Here Daddy.”
Isla totally had this conversation with us. It was kind of a stage, actually.