My Daughter, The Con Artist

conartistWe had trouble putting Emily to bed last night. She got her usual pre-bedtime bath. Bottle. Burp. But at the end of this routine, her eyelids didn’t go droopy. Her arms didn’t go limp. Instead, she just fussed and fussed and fussed.

Eventually, I took her upstairs anyway, at which point I fully expected her to start screaming as soon as I placed her down in the crib. Instead, she got that flirtatious look on her face, the same one she uses whenever I’m paying attention to anything but her and she wants to dial up the charm.

I swear, she literally places her finger in the corner of her mouth while smiling coyly, then runs it down her chest while giggling. Or gurgling. Shameless. I wish I had video proof of this so you could see what I’m up against, but it looks something like this.

So anyway, she started smiling and laughing at me, grabbing my finger and making the most adorable cooing sounds ever in the world. And obviously, I am powerless against this. So I spent the next 15 minutes holding her hand and staring at her adoringly and smiling back at her, which is exactly what she wanted.

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