K is still quite fearful of her hair being sucked down the drain. She won't use the big potty without a full-blown tantrum of epic proportions. And, she still flips her head over daily to ask about the status of her hair growth. She's a ball of laughs. Yet, she makes me want to rip my hair out and force her to watch it be flushed down the toilet.
I'd like to brief you on the drain fear manifestation. She's learned about the garbage disposal.
Dear God, why did I teach her about it?! Why?? When will I learn to keep my mouth shut?!
Now, on a daily basis, K's in the kitchen defending the rights of table scraps and spoiled food. It started right after a stomach virus infectected my house. Our fridge was full of produce, yet none of us could eat for days. Strawberries molded and had to be disposed of. K watched as strawberry after strawberry was stuffed down the garbage disposal. To her, I think it sounded like this...
No!! Please don't! We promise to be good. Ahh!! Oh my gosh, please NO! Don't put me in there!! NOOO!
She has quite the imagination. Sweet, huh.
Which brings me to today, she wanted to make hot chocolate. And even though it will be 60 degrees today, I agreed. I bought it thinking after playing all morning in the snow, she would love to come in and warm up with yummy, hot chocolate (look at me being all June Cleaver like.) Except, it hasn't really snowed. And it doesn't appear it's going to. So, if she wants to try hot chocolate for the first time on a balmy February day, that's fine with me.
We made the drink and it was all well and good, until she drank it. I guess I didn't make her wait long enough, and she's clueless about drinking hot drinks. Two gulps at two different times, both spit out all over the table and herself. Hot chocolate fun over, commence tantrum.
K: I'm not drinking anymore. I don't want it. I don't like it. You drink it.
Me: Fine. Don't drink it. But I'm not drinking anymore.
K: You have to! Don't put it in the sink! No Mama, NO! Save it for Papa. No, Mama!
Me: K, I'm not saving it for Papa. I'll take care of it.
Now, at this point, K is sobbing, uncontrollably. Over hot chocolate. At the mere thought of it being poured down the drain.
K: Mama! Pouring it down the drain is NOT taking care of it!! Please, Mama, please! Take care of it! Just take care of it!
I am seriously beside myself. I'm just standing there in awe of the meltdown. I'm not even sure what to say or do. She's serious.
K: Hurry, Mama! It's getting cold. Please! Put it in a different cup and put a lid on it. Mama! Please! Put it in the cabinet. Put it up high, up here, so it's not near the cold! ...sob, sob... Please, Mama, just do it! Please!! Don't put it in the sink! No! NO!! Please, Mama!
I'm not even sure where to go from here. Maybe the psychiatrists office for her...or me? All I know, I'm really freakin glad I didn't give up alcohol.