I used to be judgmental. You know, before I was a mom. What kind of crazy person lets their child run around without clothes on?
And then this miraculous thing happened. I had a child. A cute, adorable, intelligent, wonderful child. Not that I'm biased or anything.
All previously made judgements flew out the window. I am now the mom that uses a pacifier past one, feeds her daughter eggs before the pediatrician recommends, bribes Ryanne with popsicles, and lets her scream rather than coddling her when she doesn't get her way.
Yeah, I'm that mom.
As if that wasn't bad enough, I was sitting on the deck watching Ryanne blow bubbles in her pajamas on the deck. At 11 am. I turned around to let Dallas out of the house, and looked up to see her. Naked. On the swingset.
Her little dimpled behind was climbing up the ladder to her slide, while her diaper and shorts laid on the ground discarded like rubbish.
I have also raised a streaker. Granted, she really had no options since I'm not sure Trey knows that pants exist when we are inside the house, but the amount of time it takes her to shed her clothes scares me.
So I guess I will be buying a roll of duct tape, several guns, and a shock collar before she starts junior high.