Terrorists

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!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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I don’t negotiate with terrorists. 

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