So it's summertime and the Howler, of course, needs a new swimsuit.
We finally manage to work out an agreement whereby she won't whine or pout while shopping and I won't act like a shrieking younger version of my mother.
Turns out that the Howler is also getting big enough, and developing enough, to need a training bra. Signs are obvious and instead of doing the usual Mumple denial-then-scramble, I embrace the darkside and go with it.
While trying on said bras, the Howler also shows me the spot where she lost a tooth last week: there is something seriously wrong with my baby girl trying on training bras while she still has Tooth Fairy money in her pockets (and the hole in her head where the tooth is starting to come in.)
Kill me. Kill me now.
