Why Is My Daughter Trying to Kill Me?

No, she hasn’t tried to choke me with a chicken nugget or smother me in my sleep with her giant stuffed Brobee doll, but she is DEFINITELY trying to give me a heart attack.

At the tender age of just eighteen months old, she has somehow managed to figured out how to open every single door in my house.  She grabs her little blue Fisher Price chair from her bedroom, drags it across the floor, props it up against whichever door has been absentmindedly left unlocked, then hops up like an Olympic gymnast and twists the knob with her tiny fist until the door gives way. Once I turned around for a second and she was out the front door, halfway to the garage.  She has climbed on every piece of furniture in my house, to heights I never knew toddlers could even fathom.

The other day I had to run outside, IN MY BRA, stepping barefoot in dog piss on the way, to grab her up when she meandered into the backyard to play tag with the beady-eyed little cicadas that have infested every square inch of Staten Island.

The next day I walked into her room and found her laid out right in the middle of her top dresser drawer with the remote in her hand aimed at the TV.  Totally just chilling.  When I walked in she just gave me this look that said “yo, you’re blocking the TV.”

Then there was the terrifying day my son forgot to drain out the water after his bath and my little darling daughter sneaked into the bathroom after him.  After a heart-stopping minute looking all over the house for her  (yep, my house is THAT BIG– a whole entire minute to search high and low), I finally found her sitting in a pitch-dark bathroom, fully clothed in a tub of water gleefully emptying the contents of a shampoo bottle over the edge.  That was a super fun “holy crap my kid could have just drowned” moment in parenting history.

And here’s another classic: one day I looked at her and noticed she was definitely chewing on something.  I figured it was one of the Cheerios she usually tosses over the side of the high chair to save for later (really, doesn’t everything taste better off the floor?).  So I reached into her mouth to rip open her little clenched jaw–and out popped a dime AND a toothpaste cap!  Two choking hazards for the price of one!

I don’t get it.  She really is a sweet little girl.  That’s why I don’t fully understand why she’s trying to send me into cardiac arrest.  Or at the very least, give me a bleeding ulcer. Isn’t merely keeping your child alive like the most basic aspect of parenting?

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