The other night we had just put both girls to bed. Zak ran out to get hot chocolate for us and I started to return a few e-mails. Then Ellie started crying. I ignored it. She started crying louder and louder. I figured she had a messy diaper and thought I might as well wait for Zak to get home so he can deal with the mess. Smart, huh?! Anyway, as I hear him open the front door I head up the stairs and let him know that I think Ellie pooped. We went into her room and what a sight we encountered. Every (all nine) pacifiers, her two blankets, her pillow, BaaBaa, and another stuffed animal were all on the floor. She saw us and immediately says “Shirt! Shirt!” (Which sounds a lot like a not so nice word.) “Shirt off! Shirt fell!” Sure enough, she had managed to take her pajama shirt off and was standing in her empty crib topless. Crying, really hard. “I want shirt ON!!” We asked her if her shirt had fallen off and she responded, “YES!” After getting the kid dressed again, tossing everything back into her crib, and happily giving her another set of good night kisses, she laid her head down and went right to sleep while we enjoyed our hot chocolate.
Falling Shirts
