Well, here I am…

…sitting on a deck in the damn Southeastern heat, hoping someone reads this stuff, if only for the justification of my torture. The lengths I go to, to find a semi-quiet, quasi-distracting, pleasant atmosphere devoid of Stewie-type demands for “Mama, Mama, Mama, Mama…” well, you know the rest. It used to be one of my ringtones when she was still little, before she could actually say the word. Now, I think if that was my ringtone, I’d throw my fucking phone through a window.

It’s not that I don’t love my daughter. I do. I just need a break every now and again. It’s bad enough that I feel guilty every single instance I take my time folding clothes at the laundromat, just to be gone a couple minutes longer. When I leave the house, I hug her about forty-seven times. I hate to leave…but it’s better for our relationship sometimes. Even as young as she still is, it’s hard to get along with her sometimes. I can imagine how rough it was for my own Dad, raising four of us by himself, with only me to babysit. And he just couldn’t trust anyone else with us, for fear of an unseemly situation.

I, too, trust very few people with my baby. Her Dad, my Dad, my Mom. That’s about it. I trust her paternal Grandma, but she’s all the way in South Carolina. That makes it harder for me to ever get out and about on my own. I miss her when she’s not with me. I love the way she talks, with all the animation of a Disney character on a wicked sugar-high. It makes me laugh just to see her smile her coy, little grin. She told her first joke when she was just barely a year old, for goodness’ sake. When there’s a difficult day, though, it quickly becomes impossible for our two thunderous personalities not to clash.

My daughter’s so stubborn, the expression should be changed. With her replacing the mule. You could sit there and tell a mule who didn’t want to move, “Damn you! You’re as stubborn as a Kyra!”

And yes, I do. I absolutely love my daughter.

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