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Where's the baby?

Real life answers to that very question.

He’s eating the hair out of my brush.

He’s in the pantry sucking the food out of cans, vampire style.

He’s stuck under the bed.

He’s in the closet squeezing toothpaste into my shoes.

He’s riding the dog.

He’s licking the dog.

He’s beating the dog with a hairbrush, er, grooming the dog.

I think he’s locked himself in the bathroom.

He’s in the laundry hamper.

He’s on the treadmill, but don’t worry—he hasn’t figured out how to turn it on…yet.

He just said “ta da!” so he’s done something horrible magical somewhere.

I don’t know. I thought he was with you.

Did I mention how glad I am that the baby is walking?


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