I think it must have been the moment The Captain had to scrape pieces of a stress ball out of Sweet Love's teeth that I thought, we're not out of the woods yet with this one.
But, she's three now, and three year olds are supposed to be less...psychotic? bipolar? theatrical than twos, right? But y'all. Last week she ripped apart a stress ball with her teeth. Like, for no reason at all other than that she could. You can still see the drool.
Sweet Love is the kind of kid who runs through the house with a pizza box opened around her shoulders like a robe. She's the kind of kid who writes on the wall with a Nutty Buddy.
She jumps rope with my craft little Easter bunting, and has at times dragged a metal broomstick to bed with her. She's the one I have to say crazy things to, such as "Jenga blocks are not tub toys."
We had such high hopes for her three-year-oldedness.
What we are pretty pumped about, though, is the day that we can get this baby signed up for some type of sport to channel all her...energy. She will be the most intense little ball player or swimmer or tumbler or whatever-er, of that we are convinced!