Mommy = Chopped Liver?


It was Sophie’s turn to drive me crazy today. I know she’s only two, and some of you might not feel much sympathy for me after reading my humble story, but I really need to vent.

The day started off fine enough. Got off to Chloe’s bus without a problem, with Sophie frolicking in the puddles. After her usual dose of cartoons (which is really an overdose, since she watches well over the American Academy of Pediatrics‘ recommended daily amount of zero hours for kids under three – are they crazy?!), it was time to run some errands.

Easy, right? No, never easy. This time, it was because she didn’t want her snack in a bowl with a lid. She wanted it without the lid, which I knew was a mess waiting to happen. She started to cry – a lot. And that’s when it began. “Papa, papa!” she yelled (my husband was working at home today). When I tried to reason with her (duh!), she continued her “Papa” refrain. He came down after a few minutes, and she ran into her savior’s arms. And he consoled her, and protected her from the evil mommy (if you think my husband has some enabler issues to resolve, join the club). And then, in a brilliantly bold move, she pointed to a paper cup and I realized that she was compromising. The cup was deeper than the bowl, so the snack had less chance of falling out of it. Papa brought out the best in his little girl, and Mommy had to concede that she’d been outsmarted by a two-year old.

The two of us then proceeded to have a nice time shopping. She charmed everyone she met along the way. That amounted to about 2 hours of no-stress fun. When we got home, it was time for her nap. But she didn’t agree with me. At first, she was simply fooling around. But after resisting for over an hour, I lost patience, and started to make angry noises. After some more tears and some more “Papa, papa!” pleas for help (which this time went unheeded), I finally left the room and she fell asleep. Why I didn’t leave her alone sooner, after 7 years of parenting experience, is beyond me.

Sophie took a good nap, and she woke up just in time for us to pick up Chloe from school. That went more or less smoothly. When we returned home, Sophie didn’t like that I was giving Chloe all of the attention. Mind you, I had a good excuse. My big girl had math review for a test tomorrow, and there were SIX pages of questions. It took Chloe 45 minutes to complete. Luckily, she had already finished the reading portion of her homework; otherwise the torture would have lasted even longer.

But Sophie was not pleased. And the screaming resumed, right where it had left off earlier in the day. “Papa, papa!” At least 30 times (ok, maybe a little less, but who’s counting?). I was about ready to swallow a bottle of Excedrin. And what do you know? When Papa finally came downstairs, she ran, yet again, into her savior’s arms. And I felt like chopped liver.

I’ve reached the conclusion that Sophie and I may be spending too much time together. I told my husband that I want a solo vacation for my birthday (I think I have a better chance of winning the lottery, but at least I tried). So that maybe, just maybe, when I return I’ll be treated like foie gras instead.

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