My baby is becoming a two year old. Or a sociopath. I can’t figure out which. Example from tonight at dinner (which was pizza, by the way… Pizza. The world’s least objectionable food).

Walter: No! NOOOOOO!!!!!!

Me: What sweetie? Do you want me to cut it?

Walter: Yeah, cut it. (Sniffle)

(I do so and then give it back to him, along with a fork – “FOOOOOOORRRRRK!!!”)

Walter: (pokes at it for a second) No! It’s hot!!!! It’s HOOOO-ha-ha-hot…” (dissolving into tears)

Me: Here… (I blow on it several times and hand it back to him)

Walter: (Lifts piece to mouth and I think I’ve finally got it… Takes it away again and-) NOOOOOOOO!!! Big! Big!

Me: (After several wrong guesses) You mean you don’t want it cut? You want to eat a big piece like this?

Walter: (Sniffle, sniffle) Uh-huh.

Me: Ok (eye-roll), here you go.

Walter: NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! It’s broken! Broken! NOOOOOOoooo!!!

Me: (After several wrong guesses) You mean there’s a string (of cheese)?

Walter: Uh-huh (like he’s the most misunderstood person in the world)

Me: Fine. Here. (I perform surgery on the pizza and hand it back)

Walter: (Looks at it for a second) NOOOOOOOOOOoooo!!!! Cut it! Cut it!

Me: AAaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!

Walter: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!!!!!


I don’t negotiate with terrorists. 



So, I’m pretty sure my husband has been cutting my one year old’s hair behind my back. We have differing views on haircuts. We both agree they are a good and necessary part of life, but when a haircut is overdue, just try getting us to agree on how to proceed. In my humble opinion, a shaggy head of hair is better than a poorly cut one. In his opinion, anything, absolutely anything, is better than having hair covering your years. So anyway, now my baby looks like this stooge. Moe is it? (Are you allowed to talk about the three stooges if you can’t identify them by name? If not, I apologize.)


Me: Milo, we wear shoes when we’re outside.
Milo: But… I look beautiful without my shoes.