Mulch in my Bra

M is still in a terrible two phase. This morning, she had (yet another) fit at the playground because (as best as I can tell), the other kids there were daring to breathe the air molecules that she might want, someday. She flung herself down in the mulch and rolled around, screaming pitifully. I tired to comfort her, but all I got for my pains was a bra full of mulch. Clearly, if she's going to continue to be this cranky, I'm going to have to quit wearing v-neck t-shirts, (the very thought of it makes me shudder. I'd have to replace my entire shirt wardrobe!).

Much as I love my kid, I have to admit she's getting on my nerves these days. She's just so very sensitive, and there doesn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to what pisses her off. She freaks out of the cat so much as enters the room she's in, because she's afraid he's going to want something she has: "kitty shhhhaaaaare shoes! Kitty, shhaaaaaare teddy! Kitty, shhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaare waduh!" I find myself droning "baby, the cat doesn't want your [any damn thing]. It's ok" a thousand times a day.

Not helping matters is the fact that the Boy's been working really hard these days, leaving me on kid duty for pretty much her every waking moment. An when he finally does get home, he doesn't seem to get what I mean when I say I need a break. Last night, I was feeling sick, so I asked for ten minutes off, and went into the living room to sit for a moment. Not two minutes later, here comes M to ask for a story. It took 20 minutes for The Boy to follow her into the room, where I was now mired in Clifford's First Valentine's Day. He did apologize, and we tried it again. This time, I excused myself to the bathroom. I hadn't so much as sat down when M materialized outside the door, where she proceeded to sit and began chanting my name. In the meantime, M was checking his work email and didn't notice she'd followed me.

I can't fault The Boy for working hard. After all, he is supporting us. But with both M and I in cranky moods lately, I'd sure rather have him around more often. Because if things don't let up, there's going to be a clearance sale on toddlers over in our house soon. What are the chances I'd find a good buyer? I'd throw in about 3.2 million stuffed animals to sweeten the deal...*


*ok, be honest. How many of you (imaginary) readers are now sitting there thinking "whew, thank god this chick can't get pregnant. She's trying to sell the kid she does have!" If you're one of them, please rest assured that I wouldn't really sell M. Honestly, do you think anyone would want to buy her now, after all that I've written?