Lip gloss.
Bubble gum, berry flavored or Burt's Bees--it doesn't matter, Olivia loves it. I guess she figures she's spent long enough watching Mama affect a minimal morning primping routine. Now, she wants in.
She has her little tubes of the stuff stashed everywhere: her purse, my purse, her car seat, my desk drawer. When I tell her she's applied enough, she claims chapped lips and manages to administer another layer of sweet-smelling balm before I can get it out of her hands.
Before you panic, there's no azure eyeshadow or sequined bodysuits in her immediate future--or her distant future, if I have any say in the matter. But there is, in all likelihood, another tube of Chapstick lurking somewhere just up the path.
Hey, at least she's not eating it.
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