My daughter just went full on feral at a birthday party.
One minute, we’re laughing and taking pictures, and the next she’s screaming and clawing and BITING. All because someone “took” the seat she had planned to sit on. I guess I should be grateful she took it out on me instead of the clueless offender, or else I’d never be able to show my face in that circle again. But it’s hard to be grateful for anything when you’re wresting a gnashing alligator that used to be your child in front of a group of people whose opinions and parenting styles you respect.
I mean, what the HELL. If she was a dog we’d be talking about whether or not it’s safe to keep her, but because she’s human, I don’t get a say in the matter. I have to keep her. Safe surrender at a fire station is only good for babies up to three days old. Not that I checked or anything.
But I don’t have to let her keep her cupcake. That bad boy is going right in the trash. It is quite literally the VERY least I could do, on a scale of cupcake tossing to orphanage, so frankly she should be grateful.
Now I’m gonna go nurse my wounds (figurative, luckily, thanks to my seven year career as a bite-dodging-teacher) with a diet Coke the size of my head. Maybe with some vodka in it this time.