Saturday, March 2, 2013

So... as I was saying.

Yesterday, I spoke so piously. About gifts.

It turns out that my toddler has her own set of gifts.

She can lock her door from the outside and pose a hunger strike that would shame Ghandi into grabbing a hamburger. Double meat.

She has the ability to soak-- positively soak-- the bathroom from a bath. Not a good place to put the baby in the baby seat while bathing the toddler. Mental note- babies don't like water thrown on them. Baby screams, each one louder and each one reverberating off the tiled walls. Toddler grabs her ears and says, "HUSH! My ears hurt!" A knock at the door and the neighbor asks if all is well.


She knows no level of cold (thankyouverymuch) and will run around the (very cold) house with clothes gone and mom akimbo chasing after her with the one pair of panties found in the dryer that are on this side of the locked door. Hooray for efficiency and disseminating the Everest of laundry making no toddler clothes available after the door was locked? Yes, indeed... hooray.

I would love to exaggerate this story with the grain of truth being that the air units in the hall are getting fixed this weekend and are blowing out cold air. I can imagine the naked toddler running out the door gleefully screaming and her mother chasing after her, with the door closing and locking in quiet succinctness. But, that would be a lie. It'd be a good'un, though.

She finally relented on the panties and looks adorable on this 37 degree day in her springtime monogrammed nightgown. Cut the heat up, you say? Sure. You pay our rent and then let's talk power bills.

Number 2 can't be fed enough. As I type, she is writhing around in my lap trying to make me get the picture. I get it, you're hungry. You've been hungry all day. My boobies can only take so much and refill so fast. From five states away, I can already see my mother reading this and saying to herself, "Just give her a damn bottle." Well, I would. But, the formula causes her to be gaseous and her tummy gets upset. Each pop of the gas relief valve makes her cry a little harder until it is all dispelled.  An hour of quiet relief, leads to three hours of tears today. So, boobies it is- at least for the moment. Of course, at this moment- it's tears. She just finished chowing and 15 minutes later... is ready for more. Ouch. In the meantime, she will give my arm a hickey.

Valve pop. More tears. The toddler runs to me from her lunch table where the meal I fixed sits untouched. Currently, I am fixated on her eating more than freezer aisle appetizers and potato chips. She, on the other hand, continues with her strike. Ghandi heads to McDonald's. The toddler asks why the youngest cries.

"You think she's hungry?"

The most common question I get, second to... "Do you think she's cold?"

The baby has cried herself to sleep in my lap. The toddler heads back to her table to turn her nose up at lunch, the same way she did at breakfast.

I laugh.

Why? Not from delirium, as you might think. No. Rather, I laugh for my other gifts- Costco chocolate chip cookies and boxed wine. Come on 5 o'clock!

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