Thankfully, the answer to that questions is no. Cheeky was in a mood when I left this morning, possibly due to gas, possibly due to avian flu, possibly due to Darfur. She's not saying. She just sits on the living room carpet and makes noises like a drowning goat until someone picks her up.
Gosh, would you look at the time? I'm off to work!
It struck me this morning that Cheeky's influence is spreading beyond the confines of her bedroom and the
obstacle course play area in the living room. I was climbing into the shower, pulling the stocks we now use to bathe her out of the tub, and watching Nemo vomit the water into the basin. I like to light candles, pour some lavendar foaming milk bath, and kick back to the soothing sounds of Toto, but that's going to be hard to do with a floating family of plastic sea creatures digging into my back.
The irony is that Cheeky doesn't even like bathing anymore. It used be her favorite part of the day, except for that moment at 5:30 AM when she's finally made enough noise so that one of us will come get her. Now she's using Child Resistance Technique #7: Going Stiff to block any attempts to get near soap and water. Maybe she likes smelling like cottage cheese, but Oodgie and I are still stonger than her, and eventually wrestle her into a position where she's just whimpering and clutching her rubber duck like it's some protective talisman. And the toys just go floating by...
I'm "lucky" in that I don't have to deal with this that often. By the time I get home Oodgie's torn and mangled body is lying on the couch, with feet pre-positioned for rubbing. But I quickly realize that even the couch has been infiltrated, as I usually sit on the pig pillow while getting comfortable in anticipation of watching Jack Bauer get uncomfortable. Of course, it's not Cheeky who's out buying this stuff, so for all my complaints we have only ourselves to blame. We just have to strike the right balance so our house doesn't turn into this. At least not yet.