This here bringer of the pooper to the fun party

Tomorrow is my 30th birthday and this is how I’m celebrating

Leta has taken a naked swan dive into her terrible twos. There should be laws against this, against a child who is six months away from the age of two acting so terribly two just like there are laws against anyone who is under the age of 21 pretending they are 21 so that they can have the all the advantages that come with being able to buy liquor, like blaming all your immature behavior including kissing the gay guy who lives down the hall on the fact that you were drunk. This excuse never loses validity, and it can only be earned with age. And practice.

It’s not so much the outrageous pitch of her scream in public places, or the fact that she acts like I’m assaulting her when I try to feed her, dodging my hand like it’s a bullet and covering her face to protect it from flying shrapnel, or refusing to play with any of the thousands of toys littering the once adult-friendly living room and instead pulling out her hair when we refuse to let her suck on a bottle of Dawn dishwashing liquid, or the flying shoe from the back seat that lands on the dashboard and consequent screeching because she can’t get the other one off.

It’s that I had to get a pap smear today and I looked forward to it: an hour by myself with a brutish doctor who has cold hands and a car jack in my vagina. As I lay there, feet perched in horse stirrups stamped with ZOLOFT ZOLOFT ZOLOFT, I thought to myself, please. Take your time. This, this is just so lovely.

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