In light of the astronaut love triangle, it came to me just now. I'm gone all day and have no idea what my baby is up to. She could be driving across the country, rubbing out paramours left and right. Imagine my horror when I rushed home opened her jumper and there it was...a diaper.
I wonder what her weapon of choice is. I bet its something harmless-looking like a poison-coated teething ring or exploding poo.
I grow suspicious of the car seat. We sleep in shifts.
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