Sometimes, when people at work tell me I look tired, I tell them I was up all night with the lil' dude.
It's never true. We all know that girl wakes up once in every never during the night.
If the lil' dude is stuck on a particular book and I am so very tired of reading it, I will hide it for a few days.
That Goodnight, Elmo book? Kills. Me.
I'll let the lil' dude take very, very long baths just so I can clean the bathroom while she's in the tub. And sometimes, I use that time to finish reading whatever magazine I'm in the middle of. Total raisin fingers.
There are sippy cups in my work refrigerator that belong to my daughter. If she doesn't finish her milk on the way in each morning, I keep it cold rather than tossing it. Hello, expensive. Tuesday, I brought home three cups.
I tell people the lil' dude wanted a Happy Meal when really, Mama wanted a Big Mac.
I'll give her free reign of a forbidden kitchen cabinet if I want to get something accomplished, or eat my pork chops in silence, like last night.
I'll keep her home from daycare with just a sniffle so I can have a day off, too.
It's OK, right?