We’ve been trained to expect drool with a baby. Worse than dogs at times. But I must have missed the class quiches teaches a parent to be patient with a spitter. Not the kind of kid that spits up their milk. The kind that spits…for sport.

We have gone through an average of 4 bibs per day between spit up and actual spit as our kid imitates a motor boat which she’s never even seen. Hours on end this kid will dbbbbbbptfff all over us and the couch. A recent trip to the doctor had one little boy receive a literal baby shower as our little girl set her mouth to “misty rain” and sputtered a drizzle the boy could not get away from.

And when Mommy Ranman tries to show her disappointment in Baby Rangirl’s wet antics, she’ll continue to spit and Mommy Ranman is forced to take drastic action by way of continuous kisses for cuteness. Way to discipline, Mommy.

Here’s a fallen bib, literally reminding us of aforementioned cuteness.

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Note the hipster blurry effect incorporated. It’s ironic or something.

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