It is impossible to have anything resembling a conversation with P3 anymore. She has an entire vocabulary of made-up words (I wonder where she gets THAT from…?) It used to be funny to try to figure out what she meant, but now when I don’t understand her (which is often every [second of the] day) she gets scaryfrustrated, as if I’M the one not making any sense. Her redheaded temper is getting daily hourly workouts, and providing a workout buddy for my own brunette-but-no-less impressive temper.
I know I’m supposed to think she’s adorable and precocious (and I DO, really, I do — come on, you’ve seen the pictures [although it should be remembered that there is no audio in said lovely photos]) but for the love of all that’s holy, when she bellows in the car that she wants to go to “MOLLYAPOLIS! NOW!” (a place that cannot be found by the GoogleMap people, either) it dims the cute level after 20 solid minutes. Dims it to shades of black I didn’t know existed. Girl’s got a set of lungs on her.
Yesterday, we had a small breakthrough, when it only took me 45 minutes to figure out that when she was screeching for a “pasta bagel” she meant for me buy the whole wheat ones. Of course, before the breakthrough, she actually interrupted her tantrum to tell me that she had “lost her smile. You took it away and now it’s lost. In Big York City.” (Hey, at least it’s not in Mollyapolis; I have a feeling I know where Big York City is. Although I’m damn sure I did not take her smile there, because I would not have come back ever yet.)
If anyone out there speaks “Toddler” fluently, I could use a translator. Badly. Dire need, people. Or at least some funny stories of how your incomprehensible toddlers have frustrated amused you, too.
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