Lacking Control

The thing about having written in the space since Alexis was tiny is that I don't have to worry about not remembering. I can easily go back to a particular date and see the photos and read the words that defined that stage in life. There's no arguing with the photos and words -- they tell the story accurately.

That's how I know that back when Alexis was exactly the age that Mila is now, she had WAY more hair. WAAAAY more. It's funny because I always thought Alexis was bald. Apparently these things are relative.

I also know that Alexis seemed older than Mila does. There was something about the way she carried herself -- her refusal to sit in a stroller, her disdain for being carried around, and all of the other ways that she demonstrated independence -- they all told a story of a kid who didn't need anyone. She was also terribly shy, so it was a lie of a story. She was independent, but only if she was glued to my side.

Another thing I noticed skimming some archives was that I was very clearly still picking out Alexis' clothes when she was nearly two years old. There are some photos that show a Princessified Alexis, but it was through additions. She added tiaras and sashes and high heals, but her actual clothes lacked in pink and fluff. That was me. I did that.

I'm not in charge of what Mila wears anymore. I may still be the one who makes the purchases, but that girl will veto an outfit faster than you can imagine if she doesn't like it. She specifically requests things all of the time and you better play along. Or else.

For example, I finally found the girl some Minion pajamas last weekend. It's a good thing I bought three pair because that's all she will wear now. There has been much drama over the stupid Minion pajamas.

And all of her other clothes. Every day. Always.

She picked the cat pants, you guys. Not me. Mila. SHE PICKED THEM.

If losing control over a kid's wardrobe choices is going to involve cat pants, I'm totally on board.

I've Got a Little Competition

Houston, we have a problem. That much was clear moments after I walked through the door with a box in my hand.

"Pizza?" Mila asked as she ran to my side.

"Nope, it's not pizza," I replied. I expected her to be super disappointed because "no" and "pizza" are the worst words that can be put together. She wasn't disappointed, though.

"Donut?" she tried again.

I am positive Mila can't read (yet!), but she was right. I was indeed carrying a box filled with donuts. The littlest member of the family was over the moon with excitement because donuts. I mean, seriously. DONUTS. That's a pretty solid consolation prize when you were hoping for pizza.

So ... I'm thinking maybe I should be concerned that my 1 year-old knows what a box that holds food looks like and that her first guesses are pizza and donut. Other fun words that are in her vocabulary include candy, ice cream, treat, cookie, and a whole bunch of other variations of junk food. It's as if the kid got her hands on my personal food pyramid and made it her own.

Whoops.

Except, do I really get the blame? Alexis is also my kid, of course, and she didn't start to understand the joy of junk food until very recently. She's all in on the Girl Scout Cookies and ice cream these days, but she really could leave the rest of it behind in favor of some Lima beans and salad. 

I made that kid. She doesn't like junk.

I made that other kid as well, and she will starve herself at dinner in hopes of conning her way into getting some junk instead. She has never met a bag of candy she didn't want to destroy, cake she didn't want to inhale, and and she will happily take a bath in ice cream.

Life was so much easier when I didn't have to share my food pyramid. I might have to start hiding in the pantry when I need some chocolate.

On My Way to Where the Air is Sweet

I won't bother to mention which parent keeps turning on the television in hopes of distracting Mila from burning down the house, but that person created a monster. A monster-loving monster.

Sesame Street, man. It has turned into an obsession.

From the moment she first caught a glimpse of the fuzzy Muppets, Mila has made it her mission to rearrange her life to make more room for "Elmo." That's what she calls the show, of course. "Elmo." From the moment she wakes up until she goes to sleep at night, Mila is asking to watch Elmo over and over and over.

The good news for the parent who doesn't like when anybody watches television is that Mila's attention span is about as long as a toddler's. The girl can't focus on the show for more than two minutes. That means she manages to harass the bigger people into turning it on, but then she vanishes in search of matches or whatever it is that she plans to use to destroy the planet.

Want to guess how many episodes of Sesame Street have played all the way through without a toddler in the room? You better pick a really high number.

Higher.

Higher.

You guys, it doesn't take a Mila for the Sesame Street shenanigans to get started. For reasons far beyond my comprehension, ALEXIS KEEPS TURNING IT ON. I don't understand any of it, I just know that Alexis is choosing to turn on Sesame Street over the 23,532,413 terrible shows that she usually watches.

Jessie and her brats have been banished.

I haven't cursed under my breath at Spongebob in days.

With the exception of a Fuller House marathon, even Uncle Jesse has been missing from the rotation.

Alexis has been ON PURPOSE WITHOUT MILA ASKING turning on Sesame Street. Because SHE wants to watch it.

Welcome to Sesame Street, Alexis.