Chocoholic

October 4, 2014

This girl’s first tooth was a sweet tooth.

Even today, chocolate is her go-to sugary snack.
I swear we’ve washed her face in between these photos.
But I had no idea how deep her love for the divinity ran. Unfortunately, now I do. 
As were walking out of preschool the other day, I stopped at the table in the foyer to sign my four-year-old out for the day. 
Now they say things can happen in the blink of an eye, the flip of a switch, a single heartbeat, a moment’s notice, a snap of the fingers…I think you get the point.
True. Dat. 
Just as I finished signing my name, dotting the I in Lindquist, I reached for Faith’s hand and it was gone. Instead, it was reaching, slow-motion style, down to the ground. On the ground was a blob. A brown blob. An indiscernible brown blob. Before my brain could form words for my mouth to speak, the brown blob went from her pinched fingers to her mouth. TO HER MOUTH!
Suddenly my voice starting working. I screamed. Shrilly. Words were coming out in spurts. GAH! WHATWASTHAT? FAITHGROSS! OHMYGOD! SPITITOUT! LICKITOFF!
My beautifully little four-year-old caught the last part loud and clear and promptly licked the rug. The rug on which people wipe their shoes. Their nasty, sticky, stanky shoes.
More screaming. More yelling. Mainly by me, but not at my girl.
Then, there it was. A whiff of pure milk chocolate. A heavenly scent. A glorious smell.  Thank God for chocolate. 
We quickly rushed inside and Count Chocula washed her mouth out while I apologized about the screams coming from the foyer. As my firstborn finished drying her hands, she looked up at me and announced, “I feel like I could cry.”
The only thing worse than making my daughter feel terrible for eating a glob of melted chocolate off the ground was if it had not been chocolate. But it was. Thus I felt HORRIBLE!
On the drive home, we had a long talk about not eating anything off the floor and about what types of things we put in our mouths. She smiled. She nodded. I thought for sure she got the message.
Key word: thought.
That very night, I walked into the bathroom. Her toothbrush was on the counter. Instead of pink bubblegum toothpaste, there was a line of hand soap on the bristles.
Her defense: “I want to do it how I want to do it!”
My advice: stick with floor chocolate.