Yesterday morning Seconda started the day by literally ingesting my Nars lipstick, imperiling herself and the future of my personal grooming. It only went downhill from there. I found her lying on her belly in her room read a book and chewing gum, actual gum, like she was a frickin’ teenager. Five minutes after I pried the gum out of her mouth I found her chewing something else.
“What are you chewing?” I asked, exasperated.
“I’m in my room so you have to LEAVE ME ALONE!”
This child, let me remind you, is TWO YEARS OLD.
Two.
“What are you chewing?” I repeated, now through gritted teeth.
“I AM CHEWING GUM!!!!!!” she shouted right in my face.
“Spit that gum out. Right. Now.”
I guess the calm in my voice frightened her, and she, for once, obeyed, spitting out, not gum, but a very moist and well-worked Trident wrapper.
She never watched Nickelodeon, not even Nick Jr. HOW did she become so tweeny on me?
Later that night, my sister and I were regarding Seconda, who was happily shoving cavatelli in her mouth, in the nude, and barking orders at us, “MORE OJ! NOT THAT CUP! GIMME MY BACKYARDIGANS CUP!” and Courtney observed, “You are a real monster.”
Seconda, her mouth full of pasta, replied in a very calm, very matter-of-fact way, as if to clarify a confusing point:
“I’m not a monster, I’m a rascal.”
And that, dear readers, is why I keep ‘er.
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