I don’t know who this little 31-pound terrorist that has occupied my home is.
The body is the same as my daughter’s who I adore infinitely.
But this person…
…this poltergeist is different.
She has the mood swings of an adolescent accompanied by the hot flashes of a woman in menopause mixed with the screams of a banshee.
I’ve heard about these mythical terrible twos. But this is ridiculous. This is the worst stretch of fatherhood so far. She is strong willed, uber -independent and has very specific demands.
She only wants to watch the “Wheels on the Bus” video with the yellow bus. Don’t dare put on a video with a different color bus or there will be hell to pay. MiMo is so about that life that she has a specific playlist she wants to hear during the ride home.
“Daddy, Laka, Laka song” (Laka = Blue’s Freestyle on Jay-Z’s 4:44)
I hear a yell from the backseat “Laaaaaaakkkkkkkaaaaaaaaa”
Boo, the song is over.
When the song that she requests doesn’t play her face says:
This repeats for 30 minutes. She sometimes wants to hear “Uh Oh” (Single Ladies), “Eeeeeee” (Kill Jill) or “Doctor” (I Need a Doctor). I’m not only her chauffeur but I’m her DJ. None of the parenting books I read told me about this.
I love that she has my musical sensibilities…other than the fact she likes Taylor Swift, but she can’t be too perfect I suppose.
This stage is so complicated because she can only halfway communicate her demands.
For example, she said she wanted pink water. I looked at her with a look of confusion. She returned my look of confusion and raised it with a look of “Negro, if you don’t get my pink water there’s going to be trouble, trrrrooouuubbblllle”. I’m quickly scrolling through my mental Rolodex of pink liquids and none of them has she had before.
That was my problem. I’m overthinking it, thinking that an almost 2-year-old actually knows WTF they are talking about. Eventually, I found out she was talking about bottled water pulled from the plastic wrapping that has a red hue when poured into her “Sippy cup”. She puts so much pressure on for a quick answer that you don’t think logically. Point to MiMo.
She has this obsession with being outside. Outside was the first multi-syllable word she learned.
She. Will. Not. Let. It. Go.
Granted she is a happier person when she is outside. She transforms into the sweet kid I love so much when take our walks. But she never wants to come back inside. All of our summer outings ended with me being attacked by mosquitoes. Somehow she is immune to the bites. I have a choice: she either screams inside to go outside or I go outside and get assaulted by mosquitoes. Rock meet hard place. Well played MiMo, well played.
This whole sleep regression ish…I’m about to tap out. Top it off with our child getting almost 4 teeth at once…this ish is out of control.
But there are those moments – like when I was trying to do something for her that didn’t go well and she said: “Daddy fail”. While cold blooded – it was cute; or when she repeats her morning affirmations before she enters her class at day care. It’s a warm feeling. At this stage, the cute moments are being dwarfed by these mini nuclear meltdowns.
I love her…at her core, she represents everything that good about humanity. But she is so much work.
A 3-year-old is worse….