I’ve been dying to write something about the bunny for a while.
Meet… the bunny. His name is “the bunny”.
This is my 1yr old, Maya’s, most important possession in the universe. When necessary, I can bumfangle her little brain into forgetting about bunny by giving her “the baby” or “the duckie” then turning off the light and running out of the room really fast… but we try not to have to do that very often. It’s much less painful for us to just to be sure that the bunny is always available.
Huh, what’s that? Dirty? Nahhh… it’s not dirty. He’s just ..sortof.. decorated. yeah. That’s right. Like a home made scratch & sniff. The purple stuff is grape jelly. ;)
But seriously now, it gets a bit embarrassing for me to be seen out in public with my kids and this bunny sometimes. One day, my kids coerced me into taking them to D&D. But having just gotten the kids from my hubby, I wasn’t completely aware of the state things were in before agreeing to donuts and getting them out of the car. Maya was wearing the worst clothes ever (thanks to my husband’s horrible sense of fashion), barefoot (again, thanks for not putting her shoes on, babe) and holding on to this bunny. The hair on the back of her head was matted (again, thanks). She looked like she was going to audition for the part of one the Annie orphans.
Bunny gets thrown into the washing machine every so often. Like on the day I took that picture. If Maya would just stop throwing him up in the air and watching him land on the ground, and feeding him her lunch, we’d be golden.
