I know most people say toddlers are like tiny, little drunks. I beg to differ. Having a toddler is like living with a two and a half foot person coping with Alzheimer’s. Last Christmas we had a decoration-less tree because I knew I would be finding ornaments in my trash and around my house for weeks on end. I shit you not I found my toothbrush in our blender once. Not to mention she’s naked at any given moment. Most days I don’t even bother dressing her.
Recently she’s taken to hiding her cups. I can’t make this up, I have gone a week without realizing a cup has gone missing. I like to consider myself a part time cheese farmer, actually. It’s an “hommage to fromage” (did I even spell that correctly) If I only had a dollar for every time I hear “oh there you are” when sass actually finds a cup before I do, I would be loaded. What I failed to mention was my heart attack that occurs as I hot tail my yoga pants clad ass over to her to snatch the cup out of her hands faster than a jack rabbit on a hot day. (Apparently I have been watching too much Sheriff Callie)
Another thing I have come to realize is how I am basically speaking Spanish to my kid daily. “Don’t you dare climb on the table” climbs on table. “Don’t you dare sprinkle your milk across the kitchen”(fake laughing and splashing whole milk everywhere) Most recently I have had to remind her that we don’t drop a giant baby Ruth in the freakin bathtub.
“Do you have to poop? Stop grunting, let’s go on the potty”
“Nooo poof mum” (apparently she’s British with that mum shit)
3 seconds later “poooooof” as she sighs in disgust like I hopped in there and dropped that log. I imagine this language barrier occurs with Alzheimer’s patients also.
For now I will sit here as my kid “relaxes” in her bath plotting where her next turd will land in my giant garden tub.