Right after I got out of college, I went on a road trip with a friend. We drove from Minnesota to New York, and we drove through Chicago to get there. Now, as this and layovers in O’Hare have been my only visits to Chicago, I mean no disrespect to what I’m sure is a lovely city by saying that after a while, my friend and I decided that driving through Chicago must be Circle of Hell overlooked by Dante only because it hadn’t existed back then. Driving through Chicago is a black hole that cannot be escaped—it just goes on and on and on. And on.
So there’s that. And my daughter has been replaced by an alien. You know how Willow had a great appetite, loved all meals, and would try anything? Yeah, now we drink only milk, and eat only raisins and pears. No other food is acceptable. Oh, except house plants. She’ll eat house plants. “No dinner! Just miiiiiiilllllkkkkkk!” She will not sleep. (She was up for another bajillion hours the other night, and then refused to nap on top of that.) She will not speak to her father (last night, she screamed and shoved him away for trying to assist her in getting her pjs on). She will not let me out of her sight (this morning, I was not allowed to get dressed after showering. Screams, because I wanted to put her down so as to not be naked in full view of the neighbors.)
I know that this is a phase, as all things are. It is a phase brought on by fighting a cold, by getting a tooth, by being two. But dear God, it feels like it’s never going to end.