Mmm, pudding…

or – Why I’m demanding a DNA test.

Ah yes, I was going to tell you my theory on why I believe Erin was switched with another baby at the hospital. But the proof is in the pudding and a picture is worth a thousand words. Behold:

She did NOT get that from me! She was all “I cooking” for hours Christmas morning with the sound of those “dancing shoes” clicking on the tiles. I swear I broke out in a rash just watching her!

But maybe these things skip a generation. Because later Christmas evening there was this:

Oh yeah, that’s my girl.