Parenticide

Oh, my baby girl.  She is so stinking hilarious.  She's hysterical.  She's smart -- like SCARY SMART.  She's cuter than any other kid in the whole wide world (no, I'm not biased. Why would you even ask that?).  Her one dimple on her left cheek literally stops people in their tracks.  She's just amazing.

 

Also....

 

I'm pretty sure she's trying to kill me.

 

 

I'm just sayin'......

 

We are fully entrenched in the "Terrible Twos," which I thought was a bit early, but was schooled by a friend who told me her pediatrician told her that the Terrible Twos are "a period beginning at the age of 18 months, and lasting for two years."

 

Oh.  Well.   Good.  That's........fabulous.

 

In all reality, she's now probably just as crotchety and disagreeable as any other kid before or after the Terrible Twos.  She's doing things like THROWING FITS, and WHINING, and HITTING ME, and CHUCKING BEDTIME DORA ACROSS THE ROOM.  OMG, SOMEONE SAVE US.

 

She just didn't do this stuff before, so we're not used to it. I know, it's normal, she's testing her limits, yadda, yadda.  She's also very effectively testing my ability to not scream constantly.  I'm actually doing pretty well.

 

And, obviously, this is mostly meant to be funny.  Mostly.  Because when I sit down and think about all her antics, it's hilarious.  Maybe that's because I'm drinking when I sit down......

 

She's also got her mother's appetite.  She's not much for meals; she'd much rather snack all the live-long day.  And if she sees you with something that even remotely resembles food in your hand, she has to have a bite.  Even if it's the exact same thing you just put on her plate 10 seconds ago.  Yours is clearly more tasty than hers.

 

I call this the "Golden Retriever Stage."  I hated it with all my nieces and nephews, and I hate it even more now, because I now realize there's not a freaking thing I can do to stop it.  No amount of scolding, explaining, lecturing, timeouts or actual physical removal from the area keeps her from standing at our feet panting like a hungry puppy with her mouth wide open ready for a bite of our dinner.  Because, I mean, OBVIOUSLY we're going to share.  Who wouldn't?  DON'T TRY TO RESIST THE PULL OF THE DIMPLE.

 

The other night she was snacking away on some goldfish crackers, finished them off and asked for more.  I told her no, but she could have some dinner.  Her response:

 

"Okay. I want pitzeys (pizza)."

 

Me: "No, we're not having pitzeys.  How about some chicken?"

 

"I want a hot dog."

 

Me: "No, no hotdogs.  You're having chicken and green beans."

 

"I want cake."

 

Me:  [what the fuck. we don't even have any cake. we don't even eat cake in our house on a regular basis] "No, no cake. Chicken."

 

"I want ice cream."

 

Me:  "Fine.  This is ice cream. Chicken flavored ice cream.  ENJOY WHILE I GO SCREAM AND LAUGH SIMULTANEOUSLY INTO A PILLOW."

 

It's even worse if you take her to the grocery store. She sits in the cart doing what I'm sure all kids do:

 

"I want cookiesI WANT POPCORNI want cheeseI WANT YOGURTI want cottage cheeseI WANT HAM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

 

Seriously.  She's going to kill me.  But I'll probably laugh myself to death, because it's pretty hilarious.