So about two hours after the previous post it was almost bath time aka Sesame discovered how to open her bottles...IN HER CRIB. Needless to say formula was EVERYWHERE and a bath was in order. So. We were happily playing and pho-toing in the batcave:
See. Happiness. In a cool photo-op. Aw. Bliss. Baths are relaxing. Soothing. Until there's a loud crash and a yelping dog. Then you very carefully keep your foot in the batroom (because that will keep the baby from drowning) and peek around the corner to see this:
Alllllllllllllllllllllllllll the 6-12 months clothes that the darling, damp babe in the bath has outgrown spilling down the stairs like a waterfall. Who's to blame??? The leaping, yelping Homer of course... sigh. Chalk it up to Daddy being out of town.
We didn't let our evening spoil though. We promptly held a tickle fest later in the evening:
Nothing can kill that grin. Not even laundry scattering dogs. :)
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