A Prisoner in My Own Home

I put Alexis to bed over an hour ago. She wanted to take her favorite book, I Love You Through and Through, with her, so I obliged. She's been reading the book over and over and over and over FOREVER. Now I'm a prisoner in her room. I don't think she knows I'm in here, but if I try to make a run for it, she definately will. I want to leave, but the pages keep turning and she keeps jibbering along. Oh how I wish I had escapted when I had a chance . . . I imagine this must be how Paris Hilton feels right about now.


State of Independence

Lest you think that I find Alexis' independent streak to be a bad thing, let me just tell you that I actually think it's the greatest thing ever. There aren't many 16-month olds that will sit and play by themselves for hours. It's not a guarantee around here, but it is the norm. The only drawback to that activity is that she will wander into the street if we're outside. She bound and determined to find her way to the playground, and she doesn't need my help.

The other time I love the independent streak comes around each and every time Alexis feeds herself. I can't tell you how much I appreciate that I can plop her in her high chair with a spoon and some pudding while I clean the living room. She might drop a few spoonfuls on the floor, but generally she does her job, and she does it well.


An Open Letter to the People of Pittsburgh

Dear Well-Intentioned People of Pittsburgh,

Hi there. We have never formally met, but I am that crazy lady that drags her hysterical, screaming kid across the street and through parking lots. Now, before you call CYS, let me explain.

My kid, she's pretty independent. There aren't many things that she's willing to let me help her do. She let's me peel her bananas, refill her sippy cup, cut her strawberries, wipe her butt, and, um. . . well. . . that's about it. She has decided she is fully capable of walking without anyone's assistance, most epecially mine. (Unless, of course, we're at home. Then she's all Miss Lovey Dovey with the hand-holding and hug-walking all over the place, but I digress.) Anyway, I've decided to give my kid two choices in this walking-where-there-are-cars thing. She can hold my hand, or I can carry her. Either way, she and I have an understanding that she is going to scream and fight with me the entire time. I've learned to live with it, and I hope you can, too.

So you can quit with the dirty, judgemental looks and the under your breath comments. We're all good. After all, I need my kid around for a long time. She's the only hope I have for staying out of a nursing home.

Thanks for understanding, and have a great night!

The Kid Dragger