Live From The Highchair...

Thursday morning, Finley and I were in the kitchen eating breakfast.

I finish my cereal and walk over and pour myself a nice tall glass of chocolate milk.

Now, we don't keep chocolate milk in our house. Or, I should say that we can't keep chocolate milk in our house.

Because I will consume it.
All.
In one day.

But Kristen's mom had brough groceries last week and got some of that delicious stuff for us (I mean, me.)

So, I pour a glass and notice that Finley is staring at it.

"That?" she said softly.

Now, I had offered her some a few days ago and she declined.

"What, baby?"

"That?"

"That's chocolate milk," I say.

I wish I could adequately describe what happened. Her face fell into a hilarious look of utter confusion, as if she was saying,

"Wha - but you - chocolate? You...you...you can't do that."

It was a look of horror and shock and bewilderment at what this crazy grown-up world does do its milk.

But it also meant that she didn't want any. Bottoms up!