By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
There was a little girl,
Who had a little curl,
Right in the middle of her forehead.
When she was good,
She was very good indeed,
But when she was bad she was horrid.
This delightful little poem was running through my head last night, well, a version of it anyway. I had to go look it up to find out how it actually went.
“Why?” you might ask, “do you have poetry running through your head? It’s so unlike you!”
True, unless it’s a clever little limerick that shouldn’t be recited in front of children. However, in this case, the poem perfectly describes my little girl, except for the curl in the middle of her forehead. Apparently this phase isn’t unique to my child!