People get wiser with age. Except me. I get dumber. I used to consider myself a smart person. I graduated high school early and went straight to college a week later. Then I graduated college early and got into graduate school. I crammed a three year graduate program into two and a half years and completed my dual masters program, with honors, by the age of 25. Now, when my husband enthusiastically asks “who’s that” while nodding towards the TV I answer “It’s Snuffy!” before realizing he was talking to our two-year-old daughter. I feel embarrassed because that’s one of the only right answers I’ve had all day.

Two year old tantrums in the grocery store and I cooked the wrong kind of macaroni and cheese for lunch. Again. When I give her a choice between the blue dress and the pink jumper her answer is NO! I burn the quiche and leave out a whole cup of flour from the chocolate chip cookies that lay steaming in a swampy puddle on the tray. I finish vacuuming the living room and find a whole box of crackers dissected on the kitchen tiles. Every accomplishment is shadowed by another disaster. My husband comes home to dishes stacked on the counter and a naked, screaming toddler. He always tell me how good a job I’m doing.


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