Perpetual Exhaustion

Each month, I try to write a little missive to and about my daughter to keep track of the girl she is at that time. I don’t shy away from being honest, but most of the time, I’m aiming for more sweet memory than nitpicky snapshot. I want the words to be about what Sabrina means to me, not about what she does to me.

Today does not fall under that description.

I’ve mentioned she’s been practicing her 2-ness for awhile, and boy howdy, she’s got it going on. She is particularly fond of perfecting her whining these days, and starts in on it as soon as I show up in her room to help her out of the crib (after ascertaining the locations of her beloved father and brother, of course). It sounds a little like if the Peanuts teacher had gone on a bender the night before and is suffering through a massive hangover while turning the volume up to 11. For hours on end. Nothing satisfies. Everything is No. And then there is the fake crying. She’s almost Oscar worthy already.

She has Velcro hands and bungee arms, so keeping anything out of reach is darn near impossible. And did I mention fast? She’s fast. Like, lightning fast. In the space of half a blink, she managed to get halfway across the room, scramble up a chair, and snatch a pair of scissors 2 feet above her head on a shelf.

I’m pretty sure these are burgeoning superpowers. I’m just not sure if she’s planning to use them for good or evil (but maybe evil is winning).

Right now, she has a little play soup pot in one hand, the lid in the other, and is banging them together, 6 inches from my ear.

She has just screeched, and I quote: “Get OFF the puter, Mommy!”

Ah, such a delicate flower.

Here is where I found her the other day:

But then she’ll turn around with a giant dimpled smile and fling herself into my arms. She’ll randomly burst out in song, getting most of the words right, and the most hilarious bits wrong (but better). She’ll pull out 17 toys to share wither her baby cousin, all on her own.

I guess I won’t put her on eBay just yet.

(Although. I just watched her walk across the room in my shoes, climb up on a chair (still in my 3” heels), and try to grab my frappuccino. Apparently, she is already a teenager and spoiling for a fight.)