“Um. I have a confession to make. About your granddaughter.”
Gasp. “She’s not your baby!”
Yeaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh. Sure. I was lactating cause I thought I really was having a six month vacation from reality. And my OB cut me open and administered seriously nasty drugs for the fun of it. It’s not like she had anything better to do on a Friday morning at 7:45.
“No, Mom. She’s my baby. She has my eyes. You know this. I just wanted to tell you that when she starts giggling while looking at me for no other reason than I exist, I call her my little nix nooks. My mischievous little pixy.”
“Oh. Well, she is.”
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