So we have this place in our house that has become a necessity.
It’s a place I like to call Baby Jail.
If it weren’t for Baby Jail, I’d never get a bite to eat or my daily crack….I mean coffee.
If it weren’t for Baby Jail, the house would never stay clean and it would be taken over by the mass quantities of toys that we have somehow managed to accumulate.
If it weren’t for Baby Jail, I’d go crazy, have a headache from caffeine withdrawal and never pee.
The sentences in Baby Jail are brief, and the prisoners are usually cute enough to be granted clemency to be released into the free world.
But, then they mess up their parole by trying to rip up my magazines,
by pulling on electronics in the TV stand,
or attempting to eat the cat.
So they go back for yet another sentence.
It’s not like it’s the Harry Potter closet.
And they do get visitors.
Sometimes I even join them in jail.
Because the toys are better there and I like to avoid laundry.