Why why why?

Questions that I know the answers to:

Question: Why must the Leaf Baby crawl around the house after me, crying, no matter how many times I pick him up and cuddle him and play with him and tickle him and throw him in the air and squeeze his little legs and kiss him under his chin to make him laugh?

Answer: Separation anxiety.  And possibly a tooth. It's normal, I know, and it will pass, but man. It's not like I want to clean the house. I'd probably actually prefer to play with the Leaf Baby all day long, he's cuter than any pile of dishes, but we would all live to regret it. And then we would die. Of food poisoning and mold poisoning and from falling over toys. And no, thanks for the suggestion, but I will not carry him in a sling, because of my neck injury. I'll just pick him up for a while and then set him down and then pick him up and then give him some more toys and then pick him up and then give him some juice, and then pick him up and kiss him, because he sure is cute.

Question: Why does the YaYa Sister call that little purple pixie skirt of hers her poopy skirt? (Mama, where's my poopy skirt? I'm wearing my poopy skirt!)

Answer: It's a long story, but basically everyone lied to me when they told me girls were easier to potty train than boys, because no, they're not, not at all. At least mine isn't. Kid A pooed once in the toilet and had a lifestyle revolution. It was as though he realized he'd been cheated all those months that he pooed and then rested in it. Where's the fun in sitting in your own poo? thunk he. I'll never poo in my nappy again. And he didn't. He was transformed, converted to the sheer beauty of flushable poo. Leafy already spent four months pooing in the toilet, from six months to ten months old, before he rebelled and lost the title of favorite child. But YaYa, oh YaYa, needs some kind of reward other than the perfection of poo-free cheeks. She needs presents. Gifts bestowed upon her royal self. She's like, this takes a lot of time from my busy day of doing nothing but playing and eating, and you'd better make it worth it for me. Thus, her poopy skirt, just one of the trinkets and little gifts she's received for using her little pink potty. Will I be summoned to her college classes with arms full of poopy presents after a teenaged YaYa has done her business? I hope not.

Question: Why is there a big chunk of Kid A's hair sitting in the bathroom beside the tub on the floor beside a pair of hair-cutting scissors? And why is there a large bald spot on the front of his head, right at the center of his forehead, making him look like Alfalfa?

Answer: I know MOM, I KNOW why. And when I show you pictures, I know already that you'll say I looked worse, and that you got the shabbier end of the deal. But it's still pretty funny that we both took on the role of self-hairstylist at exactly the same age, isn't it?

Question: Why can't YaYa pick things up that she drops instead of yelling for me to do it? (I didn't know the answer to this one until I asked her, pointing out that she has hands to pick things up with.)

Answer: Because her fingers are gone, having flown away into the sky after turning into birds. (!!!)