Hello, I’m a Toddler.

I’m goofy, creative, volatile.

Rambunctious but cuddly.

Brave but easily frustrated.

I like bubble baths.

Or, do I?

I’m actually not sure.

Sometimes bubbles make me scream.

I make chaos from order.

And like toys made of pieces.

Itty bitty pieces that are hard to see but easy to step on.

You offer me utensils,

But I’ll instead eat with my hands.

Get sauce in my fingernails.

And in my ears.

If you try to clean me, I’ll fight you.

I go from cute to crazy in under two seconds,

From relentlessly talkative to painfully shy without warning.

I believe in sand.

I believe it belongs in my shoes, in my hair, in my stroller.

In your lunch!

Stuff somehow gets clean.

Even though I don’t clean stuff.

I have dozens of books

But want to hear the same one

Again.

And again.

Mommy, read it again.

I’ll recite the words as you read it.

Blueberries are tasty,

But—

I must inspect each one

Because a few have weird spots.

You can eat those.

I’m your favorite human,

But I’m stealing every ounce of your sanity.

You don’t mind, do you?

So unlike me to take something,

Without first asking for permission.