Butter Me Up

So, I'm multi-tasking, talking on the phone to my BFF, letting Animal have some yogurt as her snack before bed, trying to clean up the table from dinner. I have to use the bathroom, as the baby has decided to plant himself directly on my bladder 24/7 now, so I run to use it while talking on the phone. Classy, I know. But it's Jessica. She doesn't care. (Do you?) I left Animal with my husband's back to her. I made blueberry pancakes for dinner-what better on a cold snowy night than a breakfast dinner, right? Well, I hadn't cleaned Animal's tray from dinner, so I pulled her up to the table for her snack. Risky on its own because she likes to push off with her feet and try to tip herself backwards. My kid, alright. But this was a whole other risk she took that I found upon returning to the dining room. She had pulled the butter dish up to her place at the table, with the now-soft butter stick in it, stuck both hands in it and now grinned at me looking all sorts of guilty with eight of her ten fingers in her mouth. The butter is now sculpted with deep finger holes in it and she proceeds to wipe the butter she hasn't consumed all over her face. Smiling. My kid, alright. Sorry, Jessica, for having to go so quickly. I feared the hair-smearing was next.