Little H hates to be dressed.  I'm not sure where she gets that particular trait, but I'm leaning toward this being Dan's fault.  Not that Dan hates to be dressed that I know of, but I don't want to take the blame for this one.  Night time has been a struggle because once she has her clothes off, she does not want to put anything on.  One wonderful night we discovered that if we said we were having a Jammie Party it helped convince her that putting her pajamas on would lead to something fun.  Not that it ever has.  (I'm still not sure why that ploy has worked for so long.)

The other night, after we had dressed H in her one-piece footsie pajamas, she discovered how easy it was to take them off all by herself.  So I let her chill in her pull-up for about fifteen minutes before I asked if she was ready to have a Jammie Party.

"Sure, Mom, after I am done having my naked party."

Is she really only two?  Do I really still have her sins on my head for six more years?  Because I'm not sure I can bear the load.  She's such a dork.