Imitation is the truest form of flattery

Yes, Monkey has reached the parrott-stage. She is trying to repeat things I say more and more, and has begun to imitate actions she sees me doing regularly. For example, in the morning we brush our teeth together- I give her her little baby toothbrush and she walks around chewing on it, then I sit her on the toilet and brush those tiny teeth before giving her a drink of water from the cup. She Imitates my dancing- which admittedly i don't do that often, but if I see her getting into the groove, I join in and she copies. A 16-month-old headbanging is hella-cute! She watches me putting on my makeup from the other side of the bathroom barrier and now puts any wet substance she comes into contact with onto her cheeks with a gentle rubbing motion.

Unfortunately, she does not discriminate when it comes to what substance she applies to her porcelain skin. Also, she does not really understand the difference between Milk, drinking water, bath water, toilet water, spaghetti sauce and peanut oil. This was particularly problematic the other day when I turned around from filling the sink with dish-water (yes, I do dishes and no, we don't have a dishwasher) to find her splashing gleefully in the sauce-pan of peanut oil my dear Hubby decided to store in the under-the-oven drawer. Now, in all fairness, he has been storing that sauce pan full of oil in there since I can remember, and it was covered with a lid, and Monkey had never found that pan before, though she had most definitely found things to play with in that drawer as of late. So, there she is, splashing in the peanut oil and delicately applying generous amonts of it to her face and hair. I began the "oh, no! Monkey! nononononono! routine and she thinks it's time to play chase... she takes off through the house dripping oil from her head and face and hands, as I chase her in a half squat with that horrified face that says "PLEASE GOD DON'T LET HER TOUCH THE COUCHES!!!!!!!!"

Luckily, I caught her before she got her hands on anything and of course she promptly got a bath featuring copious amounts of baby-shampoo. The dishes didn't get done that day and we had leftovers for dinner because I spent the next two hours cleaning oil off the pans and drawer and oven and linoleum. When Hubby arrives home from work, I fill him in on the day's excitement and he says with a giggle "See Monkey, that's why I'm always saying not to play in that under-the-oven drawer!".................................WHA?!!?!?!!!!?!!????

So instead of seeing that monkey has taken a liking to that drawer and REMOVING THE PAN OF OIL, he has been saying "No!" and maybe putting her in her penalty-box ( which, by the way HASN'T WORKED FOR ANYTHING ELSE WE WANT HER TO STAY AWAY FROM SO WHY DID HE THINK IT WOULD MAGICALLY WORK FOR THE PAN OF FUN-OIL!!!!!!!!) and now I can really fully blame him for the three or so hours of my life which were hijacked by that damn pan of oil. Men.

On the upside, I didn't have to put baby-lotion on her after that bath.