I remember the days when I could do nothing but dazzle and amaze The Nugget. Should I make a funny noise? Yes, please!! Crawl on the floor after you? Never get enough! Nowadays, I am little but a walking testament to the failure of fate in assigning her parents. Here is a list, no doubt not comprehensive because it would be impossible to list them all, of the ways I am currently disappointing my child:
1. I am not an artist, Disney or otherwise. We used to go out to restaurants and she would get the little crayons and be utterly delighted that I could draw the shapes for her. Circle! Square! Triangle! I was the queen of the world. She has long since mastered her shapes, however, and wants Mama to move onto more complicated things. Like Mickey. Okay, I can draw three circles so she usually gives me credit for this one. And Dora. I can do a reasonably good hair and head shape, so, again, I get credit. That's pretty much it for me. She repeatedly demands things like Donald and Boots and, yes, Daisy. I try. But she just looks sadly and the picture and then me. "That's not Daisy!" she says. I know.
2. I am incapable of sitting on the floor for hours on end. When she wants to play with anything, it seems imperative that we join her on the floor to sit down. We are not allowed to play from the comfort of a chair. "Mama, sit down" will be repeated 3,700 times for emphasis as to how important this aspect of the game is. It will not do for Mama to explain that she is old and decrepit and needs to sit up high once in a while for the sake of her back. She will sometimes give in on this one and let me, say, build a tower with her from chair height, but she is not happy about it.
3. I will not provide jelly beans in a constant stream. Enough said.
4. I sometimes try to sing along with her when she is singing. Other times, I do not sing along when she expects me to. Or I try to start a sing-along myself. Or I DON'T try to start the sing-along. I wish she would let me read over the contract so that I would know exactly when and where my singing services are approved because the rules seem very unclear and confusing and it hurts my feelings when she yells me into silence.
5. I won't let her: stand on the couch, drink soda pop, eat only junk food, watch only cartoons, color on anything other than the paper, stand on the kitchen chairs or table, hit the dog, pour water out of the bathtub, eat vitamins constantly, throw things at myself or others, eat her hair barrette, splash in the dog water, smash my IPhone, scream continually at the top of her lungs and much, much more. Ironically, the denial of any of these things is a near guarantee that she will scream at the top of her lungs. It is possible that I will then snap and scream back at the top of my lungs. But don't think this will startle her into submission. It will not. It will only make her scream louder because she must be the loudest screamer at all times.
There is more. So much more. But I grow weary and must stare into the distance while I ponder ways to survive the age of two.