toddlers

Your meltdowns never made any damn sense. They were the product of your immature squirrel brain. My mama freakouts, on the other hand, make hella sense.

My kid, who turned three the day after Mary the duckling died, wasn’t old enough to get any of it. Yet talking to toddlers about death is part of life.

What seemed like it might be a super fun adventure is suddenly exhausting, terrifying, and sometimes downright dangerous.

When I check on our daughter before heading to bed myself, I have to do a quick scan around her full-size bed just to locate her. She is almost never remotely close to where she started out. But she is almost always upside down, head jammed up against the wall or her footboard, stuffed animals scattered like confetti all around her.

Whoever is responsible for coining the term “terrible twos” and leaving the entirety of the threes out of the equation is sitting at the very top of my sh*t list. Because a little warning would’ve been nice.

For years my partner told me that I gave my kids too many choices.

To be honest, it’s exhausting, and I am ready to shed this pesky baby weight once and for all. I mean that literally.