Friday morning, Caitlin wanted up on the bathroom counter. Yeah, that's pretty normal, she wanted to to brush her teeth. Her toddler toothpaste is nummy, and has a picture of winnie the pooh on the tube.
Not patient enough for me to comply with (or predict) her plan, she stepped up onto my feet/wheelchair foot plate, and climbed onto my lap as a stepping stone to the counter. Silly monkey.
As is typical, she examined the little rack of toothbrushes, pointing out who owned which. Hers is hard to mistake, the handle being shaped like one of Barbie's buddies, which makes it a royal pain to fit in the rack. She handed me mine, and started looking around for my toothpaste. Unsatisfied with the items on the counter, she kicked her heels against the drawer below her. "Da-ee, open!" Fine fine, move your lil feet. In the category of grown up toothpaste, we have 2 tubes, a white/lighter coloured tube meant for daytime and morning, and a black/darker coloured tube for bedtime.
I yank out the white one, as it was on top. "No! That mummee toothpaste!" Le sigh. I pull out the one that matches my wardrobe, and she's satisfied. I put it and my brush down on the counter, and pick up her set. "no, da-eee!" Fine. An extra brushing won't kill me.
I pick up my brush and play around, pretending to use the wrong end, or hold it at funny angles, earning amused "nooooo"s from her. She got tired of that eventually, and told me "toothpaste, da-ee." Alright, I put some t- NOPE, whoops, she has to do it. (with help) Thinking I was ready to brush, I brought the toothbrush up towards my mouth, intending to hold it in my mouth while I 'arm' her toothbrush for her.
Instead, she snatched my toothbrush from me, and leaned forward with a toothy grin. Well frig, she wanted to brush my teeth for me, like I do with her. I bore my teeth, and moved my head a bit to not get stabbed in the cheek. The lil squirt smiled like crazy, then stopped, and opened her mouth, cuing me to open wide. She actually did a pretty good job getting the back and such. I closed my mouth, and moved the brush in her hand, playing around.
I was promptly reprimanded. "No, da-ee." Oy. Fine. When exactly did I sign up to be a dolly? Roughly two and a half years ago, I guess.