The where babies come from one came up last week.
Tonight, after the 3rd, more assertive direction to K to sit on the bed where I could brush her wet hair, she whimpered that it hurt.
“Your hair?”
“My feelings. Momma, you didn’t listen to my song about cleaning up.”
I brushed her hair, she brushed my hair, she sang her song again. The hall looks better than usual.
Remind me I need to talk to you about what K and I have talked about in the nursery the past couple weeks . . .