Or is it a squid? I don't know what it is, frankly, but my youngest girl will not let it go. She lovingly refers to it as "Buggy" and refuses to climb into her bed at night unless it is firmly clutched in her hand.
Her twin sister does not approve. She does not like Buggy and refuses to play with it. She possesses, in fact, a healthy distrust of all insects. The other day, she halted her gallop across the nursery floor to crouch down, squint her eyes, and thrust out a pudgy index finger at something on the ground. She began bellowing, "Mom! Bug! Mom! Bug! Mom! Bug! Mom! Bug!" until I came over and removed the offending piece of fuzz. Several nights ago, she awoke at 2 a.m. crying and yelling, "Mom! Bug! Mom! Bug! Mom! Bug! Mom! Bug!" until I stumbled into the nursery, shook out her blankets, and tucked her back in. There was no bug. She had been dreaming about toy squids and carpet fuzz.
Grandma arrived last week for a visit. At the dinner table, she produced a novelty cup . . .
Loving, kind Grandma looked at the older twin and asked her if she wanted to drink from this atrocity. My daughter stared at her in revulsion, visibly horrified, and whispered, "No! Yukky!" Grandma lifted the cup to her mouth, took a nice big swig, smacked her lips, and declared, "Mmmm! Spiders!" Sweet, considerate Grandma then turned to the younger twin and asked if she would like a sip from the spider cup. My baby's eyes lit up and she answered enthusiastically, "YEAH!" She grabbed that cup and drank 'er down.
Dinner last night: macaroni and cheese, green beans, tossed salad with salsa ranch dressing