Little Girl is the type of toddler, where when someone asks you how it’s going, you bluntly answer either one of two ways: Do you want her? Or, if she were the first child, there never would have been a second. There is not a SINGLE SOLITARY DAY that goes by, that my mother isn’t laughing hysterically in my face. I thought that the Mini’s sensitive nature, where every.single.little.thing. is cause for an epic meltdown, was exhausting. For all of the challenges we faced, he was by far my easy kid.
My walls are covered in crayon marks (or “crown” marks, as is the regional accent here. They are CRAYONS people, you color with them, not wear them on your head). But that’s the least of it. One day, after the no nap showdown ensued. I walked into her room to find it head to toe in diaper rash cream. Today, I walked into my room to find various tubes of lotions and gels, squeezed on the floor, colored on my newly painted walls (HULK SMAAAAAAAAAASH), along with pencil marks also on said walls.
There was an ad in a magazine I saw once when I was a kid, that always put me in a fit of giggles. It was of a kid squirting mustard all over the floor, and I always wanted to do that, but my mother threatened my life if I did, as we had carpet in the kitchen, as was trendy in the 80′s. I think of that ad now and I shudder.
I also saw that she had colored her nails in black sharpie, and I’m afraid to look around the house, because I have yet to find the sharpie.
I didn’t sign up for this.