I never found him playing in the toilet, eating garbage, or covered in a pound of flour. He never tried to play with outlets or break-in to the locked cupboard full of cleaning products. He listened to ‘no’ from an early age and rarely threw fits. He was 2 before he ever unrolled the entire roll of toilet paper on the floor, and even then it was cute because he only did it once. He was able to entertain himself like you wouldn’t believe. The kid even fell asleep during his first hair cut. (I have the video to prove it.)
By all accounts, Eric and I were well-behaved babies as well. So, I convinced myself that this demeanor was somehow hereditary. (At least I didn’t credit my mad parenting skills.) But, now, I know that is not true. (Not true at all.) Plus, I think having a well-behaved baby must have angered the universe somehow and the universe decided to punish me, the second time around, with our rotten little Pea.
Not even a year and the girl can pull socket covers out of the outlets. We can’t keep the toilet paper on the holder anymore because, if we do, it’ll just end up on the floor. She can bust her way into the cleaning cupboard in a matter of seconds. And I swear every time I turn around she’s playing in the toilet. (Okay, it’s only happened 3 times but, 3 times is more than enough. And. sure, I could get a lock for the toilet, but I have the Danger-man to think about. He just looking for an excuse to pee in the tub, or outside, as it is.) Oh, and her attitude. It can be absolutely beastly. She knows what she wants and finds no qualms in making it happen my any means (the loudest scream) necessary. But, you know, I wouldn’t change it for the world. I dig my little girl for all the ways that make her different from the Danger-man. Even if that means, that I’m sweeping up sugar, or flour, or lentils for the 11th time this week. Despite the fact, she dumped my coffee on the floor this morning and it was the last drop in the house. (At least she’s feeling better, right?)
On another note: Cosmos, if you’re listening: call off your dogs. Alright? I get it. I’m sorry that I never gave my mom privacy in the bathroom when I was little. That it didn’t matter to me if she was pooing or showering, if I needed her, I’d barge right in. I even laughed at her when she complained about her lack of privacy. And now, I understand. I was wrong and I’m sorry. (Can I please just have one shower this month that isn’t inturrupted by the Danger-man or Eric. Please?)