My photobomber looks so grown up, one vendor yesterday thought she was Martin’s wife. Another thought we were sisters.
I am thinking it’s the height.
As long as she knows I can still whoop her, we’re good.
Yeah, it’s the middle of the night. We’ve got a rosy-cheeked little teether who can’t sleep, though. Thank goodness for 24-hr Kika TV and shows about singing toast bread.
And a dad who will stay up and watch, too, even if he hates shows about singing toast bread.