Amount of time it takes for Pierce to shatter the glass plate at the restaurant on the floor after the waiter, who most obviously does not have a one year old, places it in front of him: 1.3 seconds.
Best part about going out to eat on your birthday: not having to clean up the floor under the table.
Number of heads of hair trims I gave on this Sunday morning: 3.
Number of hair ponies and bobby pins used for hair does this morning: 14.
Number of minutes Pierce lasted this morning before going back to bed after staying up later than he should have last night: 38.
Times I’ve had to wash sheets for wet sleepers this week: 1. Progress!
Times I’ve had to scold for mud all over the bathroom: 4. Some dear child is digging a tunnel in the garden. The same dear child can sit in it and disappear up to said child’s chin. Impressive. Dirty, but impressive.
Number of buckling and unbuckling seat belts during out two hour shopping trip on
Monday: 63.
Yesterday I hit my tipping point. The collective number of years I’ve mothered have officially reached the same number of years I’ve been alive. It only goes up exponentially from here.
