Wednesday, July 23, 2014

I'll Get Right On That

The laundry machine and drier are literally across the hall from where we are. You would think this would make doing laundry easier.

Strangely, having a toddler who can't be left in the apartment  by herself when awake, doesn't nap long enough to do even one full load of laundry, and can't be trusted in the hallway (with TWO big staircases that she LOVES to climb up and down even though she has fallen at least once now), makes it almost impossible to do laundry during the day when I'm here with her alone.

Why didn't anybody ever tell me that having a toddler would make everyday excursions and to-dos into adventures and impossibilities?!

You'd think that somebody, somewhere would have pointed that out. Maybe.

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

Something Witty Goes Here

 I'm tired. I can't really think of things to say that aren't variations on "I'm tired."

So here, have adorable photos of my daughter.

In this one you can see that she's doing what I'd like to do. Sleeping. Lucky little girl.
 Here is a picture that is proof of me being a horrible father.

I wouldn't let her play with a knife.
 Maybe this means she'll want to join me at karaoke when she's a little older?
 Or, you know, she's just being a toddler.

 "No more climb in couch. I promise. I promise!"

She said this while climbing into the couch.

It's like toddlers lie, or something!
 She randomly climbed onto my back and yelled "Getup!"

You can see I was thrilled by this.

She's doing it again as I write this. No joke.

Talk to the foot.

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

Three Things

3 AM, she cries out "Door! Open door! Door open!" and I, foolish mortal that I am, decide to do what she asks. I open her door (yes, we close it when she sleeps so that she doesn't have run of the house now that she's in a toddler bed and out of her crib) and bring her into my room, assuming she wants some cuddle time.

Foolish man. Foolish. Neither of us slept as she played "climb on daddy," "scream at the ceiling," and her favorite middle-of-the-night game "jump on the bed while screaming at the ceiling and sometimes mistake daddy for the bed so jump on his belly too."

It was a long morning. I'm not saying I tried to sell my daughter to a passing Romani clan but I'm not denying it either. They turned me down though and said they only take children who sleep through the night. They have standards.

She tried to pick up something off the floor and knocked her head against the table. She threw herself onto the floor (now a nice, soft rug, thankfully) and proceeded to throw a small tantrum. She wasn't hurt, not really, just frustrated. She threw her fit and immediately did the exact same thing.

Reach for the thing on the floor, thunk her head into the table, throw herself on the floor and have a fit.

Repeat two more times.

Finally I reached over and moved the table about two feet away from whatever it was she was trying to pick up. She bent down, picked up the cup (I think it was), and immediately brought it over to the table, threw it on the floor, bent down to pick it up, thunked her head on the table and repeated the process.

I moved the table again.

She threw a fit that I moved the table.

I just can't win today.

Reaching for her toy on the table she couldn't quite reach it and started crying. She tried harder and harder to reach it, straining her little fingers and arms to their maximum distance but the maraca toy was still just barely out of her reach. I asked her, as I often do, "Do you want help?"

She turned her little storm-cloud look on me and sullenly replied "Help!"

I walked over and put the maraca within her grasp. I apparently did it wrong because the maraca was then launched straight down at the ground at the fastest speed her little toddler arms could muster.

Right into my big toe.

I can't win today.

Can I have a do-over?

Thursday, July 10, 2014

Let's Talk About Frustration

Let's talk for a second. No cute pictures. No hilarious jokes. Just talk. Serious talk, even.

Let's talk about frustration.

Frustration is when your toddler screams and cries for no reason that you can discern. Frustration is when your toddler won't listen even a little bit and there's really not much of anything you can do about it because they're too small for reasoning with. You can talk to them but they don't understand and if they understand then they don't care.

Frustration is a 2 year old on a changing table screaming at the top of their lungs because they want to wear that poopy diaper, wiggling as much as possible, trying to smear a mess everywhere, flip themselves over, throw themselves off of the table.

Frustration is yelling at your 2 year old, being brought to such a state of mind that yelling is the only thing you can think to do. Yelling at them to just stop already. Yelling at them about how much they're frustrating you.

Yelling. At a 2 year old.

Frustration is realizing that yelling won't do any good either. It doesn't even work to make you feel better; it just makes everybody feel worse.

Frustration is realizing that sometimes there's nothing you can do and having to accept it.

Today was a hard day. I'm frustrated. She's napping. I feel guilty for yelling. I feel guilty for feeling so angry at this little child that I blew my top and yelled. I feel bad for putting her down for a nap even though she so badly needs it because it feels like I'm locking her away for being bad when really I'm putting her to bed because she needs to sleep.

I'm frustrated with myself for letting her frustrate me.

Tuesday, July 1, 2014

Terrified Tuesday

Cute picture, right?

No big deal, you say, right?

You don't get why this would be filed under "terrifying," do you?

What if I told you I walked into her room and found her like this?

See how that bottom (actually middle) drawer is open? She apparently opened it and used it as a stepping stone to climb her way on top of her changing table.

I learned of this when I heard her call out "Daddy, help!"

I had let her go play in her room without me because it's important (for both of us) that she get some alone time to play and make believe without daddy over her shoulder every instant of the day.

I walked in, expecting her to be crying wolf.


She reached out for me and said "Daddy, help! Down!"

Of course I had to go get a camera and take her picture.

Oh and that dress she's wearing? If you look closely you'll see sleeves coming out from under it that don't seem to match? That's because she put the dress on herself while she was in there alone, over the clothing I'd put her in that morning.

Not only is she climbing and giving me heart attacks, she's also making me question my sense of baby style.


I'll let her pick out her own clothes in the morning now that she has her own sense of style and that'll solve one problem.

I have no idea what to do about the climbing, though. Thoughts?