The seventh circle of hell...

    My daughter has unwillingly dragged me into the seventh circle of hell.  If that was somewhere I wanted to go I would have gone…by myself…years ago.  I guess this circle is reserved for mothers with toddlers.  Why did no one tell me?  She has entered this new phase that I like to call her:  Fuck that! We are not leaving here under any circumstances and if you try to make me go I will fall out and scream right here on the floor stage.

   This week we’ve visited this unhealthy (for me) world several times.  We tried to leave CVS.  A damn pharmacy…she did not want to leave the pharmacy even after I got her some paints so we could do some art when we got home.  ’I don’t wanna paint!’

   The doctor’s office was way more appealing than chicken nuggets, french fries and chocolate milk at McDonald’s. ‘I don’t want chocolate milk!’

    Auntie Clarissa’s house was far too jam packed with fun to ever leave there even with the promise of visiting Grandma at work.  ’I don’t wanna visit Grandma!’

  The library…Fuggeddaboutit.  The playground…can you hear my scoff? 

    Anywhere is simply less fun then where we are right now.  Each time it happens I scoop her up off the floor and take her out to the car.  Then she fights me while I put on her harness and yells in my face.  And each time it happens I feel a piece of my soul die just a little bit.  That’s accompanied by an ever growing stress knot at the base of my neck.  I can feel it now…pulsing with frustration. 

    Whatever I say she’s the absolute contrary.  I’ve even tried to do the old switcheroo and tell her I didn’t want her to do something but this kid is too fucking smart.  I fear that I will soon lose it publicly.  You will hear one day that I bludgeoned myself to death in Stop&Shop with a sixteen ounce can of Annie’s Organic Cheese Ravioli.  Why Annie’s ravioli?  Because she needs the publicity and Chef Boyardee sucks ass.  It smells like dog food when you open the can.  

    If what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger why am I not a pillar of emotional and physical fucking strength?  I should be the Charles Atlas of fucking motherhood