In less than two weeks, Mila will be two years old. That's about two years and two weeks before I'll be ready for her to officially leave the "baby stage" behind, so of course she decided to go ahead and prove her point by suddenly getting taller. One day she was comfortably smooshed into her infant car seat; the next her head was kissing the eviction line.
And thus began the search for a new car seat. Which, that should have been an easy task. Alas, my good friends at Target decided to be a giant ball of pain in the butt because they refused to honor their own sale prices, but whatever. Eventually I found my way around the incompetence.
The fact that Mila's head was kissing the eviction line had me all set to install her new car seat this weekend. It was a most excellent plan.
Except.
Well.
I guess maybe Mila was in a hurry? I don't know. I just know that as I was pulling into the parking lot to pick Alexis up after school, I heard a weird noise from the back seat and then some yelling. Mila was MAD. She was justified in her mad because there were half-digested yogurt-covered raisins EVERYWHERE OMG WHYYYYYYY.
I shall spare you the description of the disaster I found all over Mila and her baby car seat. Mostly I'll spare you because I don't want to think about what I had to deal with for even one more second. It was frightening.
There's only one thing to do after your baby (she's still a baby!) tries to redecorate your car and that is to pull everything apart and take the hose to it. So I did that. I tore everything out of the back seat and I stood at the back of our yard spraying the gross away.
While Mila jumped on the trampoline.
It was her idea. I don't know, call me crazy, but I feel like if I'm spraying your fresh puke out of my car, maybe you shouldn't be bouncing like a rubber ball? UNLESS YOU DID IT ON PURPOSE BECAUSE YOU WANTED A BIG GIRL CAR SEAT I AM ON TO YOU, MILA.
Ugh. Big girls are smart.
