Toddlers Don't Give a F***

I need to be doing any number of things right now, but I just had to write this down for posterity. I want my daughter to read this in twenty years to know just how much of a pain in the ass she could be at the worst possible moments.

I have been pushing through life these past few weeks on fumes. No chance to reset before the next intervening crisis or situation. And in the midst of that, I have a two year old who sincerely acts like the world only came into existence at the moment she became aware of it. Which occurs exactly at the moment she wakes up every morning.

Today is Halloween. I had intentions, but isht happens and while I was expressing my frustration with the Hub (a rant for another day or for someone who gets paid to keep me from going to the pokey), this child started running around in circles, standing on her head, and just doing any and everything to get my attention. I woke up with a headache. I was in a bad mood. I just wanted to sit still to drink my coffee. And she kept spinning.

I went to use the bathroom. She was attached to my leg as I climbed the stairs. I searched for some aspirin. She was pulling on my clothes. I sat down on the sofa. She got all up in my face and started pulling on my eyelids. I pulled a blanket over my head. She climbed into my lap, yanked at the blanket, and screamed "peek-a-boo."

I told her that Mommy isn't feeling well, and she looked right at me as if she understood every word, and then thrust her face into mine and yelled "trick or treat". Then she slid down my legs like a sliding board. Whee...

She's asleep now. The aspirin kicked in at some point during a repeat of Sesame Street. I wanted to get something to eat, but when she got all quiet in her car seat, I decided to drive until she went to sleep. I'm still hungry, I still have laundry to wash and fold, and I still need to get her ready for a Halloween party at the library this afternoon.

I feel like someone should have told me that toddlers don't give a f*** about anything. That we are duped into believing that they love us because they smother us in kisses and choke us with hugs and say our names incessantly, until we realize none of this is what it seems. Hugs and kisses are manipulative devices to distract from the pile of Baby Bell cheeses that are all over the kitchen floor. And saying Mommy over and over and over again is so much more effective than crying (even though not telling me what the f she wants is just as ineffective as crying).

I am also perplexed how any of us have siblings.