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Bebe is nearly eleven months now and has recently discovered the joy of putting objects into containers. Put the bath toys into the tub, put the sea creatures into the toy fishbowl, put the dolls into the toy bin, the fun never ends.

Sometimes when Todd and I want to feel sorry for ourselves, we whine to eachother about how we are in our mid-30s and don't own a car, an apartment, a dishwasher or a washer and dryer. It's a little silly, really, because we've chosen to live in New York where it's not a bit unusual to not own those things.

But someday we hope to own the apartment and, with it, the washer and dryer. The dishwasher is not that important to me - I don't mind doing dishes and think loading and unloading a dishwasher is nearly as much work as washing them by hand. But doing laundry is another story; it takes hours and many trips to the laundry room to do the wash, and with a baby it seems as though we're doing laundry all the time.

Yesterday I let the baby play with my keys while we were doing laundry, and she continued to play with them when we returned to the apartment. I went to retrieve them later and discovered that the keyring had come apart. Only the apartment key was gone, and I was forced to use the spare to finish the laundry. I knew the key was around but was having trouble locating it.

Today I found it. She had crawled across the floor with the key and put it into the pocket of the diaper bag.

Now I just wish I knew where she put her little people. I suspect they may have been put into the trash basket under the desk. And I've already emptied the trash.