Realizations

I don’t like almost three year-old children. There, I said it. It’s true I just don’t care for them. Sure, they’re super cute with their over sized heads and stumpy gaits. But they are a pain in the ass, make that persistent, stubborn, argumentative pains in the asses.
Now, I’m not naming in names here but there is one small person in particular that I am thinking of as I type this. I’ll leave his identity out of it but I will say that his name rhymes with Heaven and he is not at all a heavenly creature these days. I can’t understand how one being, just 25 pounds of him, can bring my life to such a standstill if he happens to wake up in a grumpy, contrary mood.
This morning our copy of Nemo happens to be missing. No big deal I thought since he has previously run screaming from the room at the mere mention of this movie. But I was wrong once again because this morning was apparently the one he got over his abnormal fear of everything underwater. (During prior viewing attempts he has claimed he can’t breathe because everything is under the water and the barracuda fish that eats Nemo’s mother is just too damn much for him.) Today was the day he wanted to watch Nemo rather than Monsters Inc. or Bob the Builder. Unfortunately, Nemo is nowhere to be found. And I just plain suck since I caused this poor angel child to weep and wail and flounder around in agony and heartache. I would feel for him if I really thought he was experiencing anguish over the absence of Nemo. But he isn’t and I don’t. I know that if it wasn’t the movie it would be the wrong kind of cereal or cup that set him off. It doesn’t matter because he is an evil almost three year-old bent on making my life hell.