When my niece was a small lump of baby flesh and unable to so much as lift up her own head, I longed for the day when she would be able to walk, talk, and move of her own volition.
Those of you that have experienced children in close quarters for long periods of time probably know where this blog post is heading.
I want to go back in time and give past Gyasi who wished for a walking, talking, and critical thinking niece a roundhouse kick to the face.
She should have enjoyed stagnant lump of baby flesh Emmalyn more.
Emmalyn will be 3 years old in January. This means that she is currently in the midst of the terrible twos. The terrible twos are as terrible as they say times thirty-five. Really they should be called The Abominable Twos or the Demonic Twos because as soon as the child hits 24 months, they transform into Satan’s Mistress. Or Satan’s Minion if it’s a boy.
A few weeks ago, my sister and her family came to visit for He-Man’s sixtieth birthday. Yes, yes, He-Man is the big 6-0. Is he pleased with this development? Extremely. They don’t tell you this until you reach the big 5-9, but the big 6-0 is the age when you get to go on a 2 week cruise to Alaska and leave your child at home.
For 2 weeks.
You go whale watching.
She stays home.
Not that I’m bitter or anything.
Anyway, Emmalyn came to visit for a few days and couldn’t have been happier. She loves her Papa Herman. She can’t get enough of her Papa Herman. When Papa Herman walks through the door she wants to be in his arms in 2.5 seconds and never leave them.
It’s that blasted Auntie she can live without.
I don’t know when or how this happened (perhaps she’s read the blog), but my niece no longer as fond of me as she once was. Then again, she’s been unable to vocalize any sort of opinion until last year, so perhaps she’s always loathed my very existence. Maybe she’s just been biding her time, waiting for the chance to strike. In ten years when her body has caught up with her nefarious schemes, she’s probably put me in cryogenic statis and drop me in the depths of the ocean.
I’m onto you, Emmalyn.
I’m watching you.
Everytime I tried to hug, kiss, or play with my niece, she kicked, screamed, went running, or some combination of the three. She wanted nothing to do with Auntie. Mind you, Auntie was the one that changed her diapers, fed and clothed her (well partially. I never put pants on her because it was too much work), rocked her to sleep, and took her for long walks in her stroller. One year later, Auntie gets no love.
Papa Herman is a god among insects
I am the insect.
Papa Herman is the bees knees.
But that Auntie can piss off.
On her last night in Florida before she went home, I thought we were making progress. I thought that the love had finally returned. It was about 7:30 at night and I decided to change into my pajamas. Emmalyn was roaming the halls when suddenly she started following me into my room.
“Do you want to stay here or come in my room?” I asked her.
“I want to come with you,” she said sweetly.
When Emmalyn was just a lump of flesh I had no problems changing in front of her. However, now that she has developed opinions and the ability to voice them, things have changed. She feels more like a person now, so being in the nude in front of my niece feels odd. Before I started changing I made sure she was occupied with some figurines I have on my dresser.
What I failed to comprehend is that two year olds have the attention spans of two year olds.
Standing half naked in my room, with my back to the door, suddenly a face appeared at my knee, shocked and appalled. With as much ferocity as she could muster, Emmalyn squealed, “Auntie, put your boobies away!”
I have two things to say about this:
1) That’s just hurtful
I was under the impression that I had very nice boobies
2) Who on earth taught her “boobies”?
I asked my sister where Emmalyn got that word from and her response was, “I have no idea where she picked that up. We call them “nursers” in our house.”