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Toughing out toddler torture

Living with a toddler that talks non-stop is fun. No, seriously.

Mine sounds like an auctioneer. “Momma, can I have candy, candy, candy? Do I hear ice cream, ice cream, ice cream? TOYS! Do I hear toys, toys, toys? GUM! No, make that crayons, no I want bubbles, no let’s walk, walk, walk. I want to go to the park, park, park. Do I hear grocery store? Ride, ride, ride, I wanna ride the ride. Please can I ride the ride? I NEED to ride the ride! Can I sit in the basket, basket, basket? GRAPES! Can I have grapes, grapes, grapes?


I have so much sensory overload that when the older children come home from school I practically dance for joy. The meltdown of their brains can now begin while I scoop what’s left of mine up off the floor because it has melted and oozed out of my ear.

Why does he have to repeat everything he says three times? Right now he wants lunch so he asks, “Momma, can I have a potato for lunch? Potato for lunch? Potato for lunch?”

It’s like living with a self-manufactured echo.

Recently we had to visit the pediatrician. We get in the van and my son starts bellowing: “MOMMA, DO I GET TO SEE THE DOCTOR, TOO?”

I suspect two things. One, he has inherited the “screeching eagle” gene from my side of the family. He sounds just like my youngest sister whose nickname was Loud Mouth Lime.

Secondly, I should NOT have given him that itty, bitty lollipop before we got in the van. That was too much sugar.

If we were ever in a hostage situation I’m positive that the hostage taker would surrender immediately. How many times have I looked desperately out my van window as a policeman cruises by and I mouth the words: “HELP ME!”? They never stop. They know better.

Once a policeman came to our house and my son practically attached himself to his side. “Are you a policeman? You ARE a policeman! I see your badge. Is that a real badge? I see your police car outside! Is that YOUR police car? Do you catch bad guys? Hey, you have a stick and a gun! Can I have the stick? Do you like to be a policeman? Can I talk on your walkie-talkie? Are you going to arrest us? Are those handcuffs?”

I have to tiptoe into his bedroom at night when he is sleeping just so I can catch a glimpse of his cherubic little face. He looks so sweet and innocent and my energy restores easily. Until…

“Momma? Is that you? Can I have a drink? Is it time to get up?”

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