Lessons from Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle

I'm calling Playette by another name today because I'm happy to finally be starting to pinpoint what her language sounds like so that I can describe it to others.

Piggle Wiggle - she says something that sounds like this a lot; I believe it to be the basis of her dialect.

Heavy D - most specifically from "We Got Our Own Thang"
(starting at about 0:15 in - I dare you not to dance in your chair, teens of the 90s)

So, MPW is sick today. As she was yesterday.

She has taught me, naive first-time mom that I am, that I was, in fact, not going to avoid being vomited on ever, no matter how much I wished that to be true.

Orange. Pedialyte. Everywhere.

She was so sad yesterday. Just defeated looking. Too tired to raise her head. Too drained to stay awake. Too preoccupied with her indescribable-to-us pains to smile.

Today is slightly better. She's smashing Cheerios into the cushions of her chair. She's laughing at times. She's even giving us a little MPW-ese, followed by some buh-diddly-dees.

And she has also found the time and strength to come up with a new game:
















Repeat, ad nauseum. Apparently, it is quite The Fun.

Unfortunately, the two of us have had to bow out of the Super Bowl Party of the Decade, hosted by DJ Pauly D and Brett Michaels.

But BD is there, representing for us all with a box of pink Franzia in hand. That's my dawg.

Go Saints!