Imagine you had a small, parasitic twin. A tiny person attached to you sucking your psychic energy away and making mouth noises in your ears while narrating your life to you every day, eating everything from your fridge and plate before you were able to.
THIS IS WHAT LIFE WITH LITTLE KID IS LIKE.
Man, oh man. The snuggles and compliments are phenomenal. The hilarious musings are entertaining. But ohmygod having someone almost literally glued to your hip for 5 and a half years will wear you down, regardless of how cute and sweet they are.
To be loved like that--it's everyone's dream. To have someone adore you, idolize you, think you are the epitome of beauty and wonder on a full time basis, and for them to have a constant need to verbalize all of that. (Just the other day as Mr. Ashley admired Megan Fox, little kid said, "She's not my type, you can take her! I'll take my mudder ober her." Imagine! Being more desirable than Megan Fox!) But the reality of a parasitic twin is not as sweet. The reality might make you scream, "JUST GIVE ME A MINUTE TO_________!!!!" (insert "think", "breathe", "talk", "rest", "poop", "live" here) on a more-often-than-daily basis.
Today he told me, "I know you're my mom but I really love your hair like that. So, so much," and then went on to sing a song that included the lyrics, "You're the only mommy that I love. I wish I could get a copy of you and then I could love both of you for-eveeeeeeeeer!" which took the sweetness straight to creepy town and made me feel sorry for the hypothetical copy of me to endure this much love.
I know, I know--he's going to grow up and leave me all alone and I'll regret ever having these thoughts. But it would be nice to breathe my own air, something he hasn't exhaled, just for a minute.
(He has interrupted the writing of this post at least 42 times.)
I'm laughing hysterically, out loud! I love little kid so much. And this blog!
I want a little kid!
He's going to live with you forever.
I had a kid just like that. He grew up and he is now 16 and I am a dork. I still call him my sweet weasel pants for fun though. He hates me.
That's so sweet/terrifying.
Maybe just tell him you need some space? hahaha it's like breaking up with someone.
This is my little kid... so so much
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