No one ever believes me when I tell them this. Let me give you a recent example of the infantile Lola.
I’m on the phone with a dear friend of mine, Lola is napping happily on the floor. After about 15 minutes I realize the snoring has stopped. I look around, no Lola.
The hunt begins.
I track the Lola down in the master bedroom and I find a chewed up cotton ball lying on the ground in front of Lola. Lola is staring at me with her “I’m innocent” face.
I frantically try to recall how many cotton balls I used to complete my nightly routine of taking off my makeup, exfoliating and applying moisturizer. And I start to sniff cotton balls to determine which ones were used for what so I know what Lola may have ingested.
That’s right, I had to sniff cotton balls from a garbage pail.
I finally narrow down that she chewed up and spit out one cotton ball and it only contained a harmless, unscented essential oil. Nothing particularly toxic in that.
I start to breathe easier. The person on the other end of the phone helps to keep me from freaking out. And then I realize the Q-tips are missing from the top of the pile.
I commence to sniffing and calculating the number used all over again.
Seriously. She’s an infant. You have to lock everything up and watch her at all times. If it is at face level, she will eat it.
Tomorrow I’m buying a covered garbage can for the bathroom.
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Lola and I opened a store so we can hopefully cover the world in her Bulldog face, check it out at Shank You Very Much