We are still getting to know each other. But at the risk of damaging our fragile new relationship, I have to ask you: What the hell is your problem?
I watched as you viciously infected my child, morphing my once sweet and loving boy into the whiniest, bossiest, most aggressive version of himself.
I see your good qualities, I really do. Your curiosity and bravery and spunk. You have a fire for life. But I have increasingly noticed that if life doesn’t go exactly your way, you use that fire to turn my passive child into a raving maniac.
Well that’s fine, Age 3. That’s just fine. If you want war, you’ve come to the right home. I promise you I can be 100 times whinier and bossier than you could ever dream. Although I will not stoop to your level of aggression, I will institute all kinds of long and monotonous timeouts. I will take away all the toys and TV shows most precious to you.
And every time my son manages to break through your insanity and show me a glimmer of the kind, polite person I know he truly is, I will praise him and shower him with colorful stickers and fun rewards.
I will do all of this until you relent and exit my son.
I will win.
So go find another defenseless, sweet little two-year-old to inhabit. If you know what’s good for you.