Sasha is two years old.
Now I know what you're thinking. "God, she's so sleep-deprived, she can't even do simple math anymore! Sasha's not even 18 months yet!" There is more truth to that than I find comfortable, but that isn't what I mean.
Sasha is two years old, mentally. This makes her sound terrific and advanced for her age and super-brilliant, right? This may yet all turn out to be the case, I'll give you that. But what it really means is that she's turned into a &$%@#% pain in the @#$%@.
Allow me to illustrate.
Sasha and daddy have a morning ritual. Daddy takes her downstairs while they're both still in their jammies, and together they feed the cat and bring in the newspaper. This is the highlight of her morning. She loves going downstairs with daddy! She gets angry if he goes down without her! It's practically as good as watching the Wiggles!
Today, she woke up her usual sunny early bird self; smiling, laughing, jumping on our internal organs. After a while, Matt roused himself and asked if she wanted to fo downstairs. "No," Sasha said, shaking her head and climbing down to get into his cubby full of superhero collectible cards.
"Are you sure?" Matt asked, pulling on his sweatshirt. This is something they've been through every day for months; a part of the game. She pretends she doesn't want to go with him, up until the moment he sets foot on the steps. Then she's all about daddy.
"No!" Sasha said, shaking her head.
"Come with daddy?" he asked. "Come on, I'll get you." He hoisted her and her fistfuls of collectible Marvel hero trading cards.
"Noooooo!" wailed Sasha.
Matt put her down again.
"You don't want to come downstairs? Are you sure?" he asked.
"No!" Sasha said triumphantly, shaking her head. Then she turned her back and toddled off again to get more cards.
Rejected and dejected, daddy went downstairs, all alone.
It's great that Sasha is learning how to exert her independence and all that, but it would have been nicer if she stuck to exerting it on me. Poor daddy just isn't ready yet.
My kitchen is: Really not so bad. Need to mop. Need groceries. Need new contacts. In all, this needs to be a weekend of errand-running.
Posted by andrea at November 14, 2003 11:04 PM