|Our First Meeting|
Pia is an anomaly.
An average vocabulary for someone her age is roughly 20 words with comprehension of - say - perhaps tenfold that many words; Pia speaks around 300 words and and I'm fairly certain she understands every damn thing we say.
When we first met, it's clear that I was instantly in love, but it's taken me TWENTY-TWO months to see a pattern*.
The fog is lifting; a fog of stupid, blind love. She calls me Me - of course she's my spirit child, right?
Perhaps you'll notice instantly what it it took me nearly two years to figure out - in every single picture, I look deliriously happy and she looks bored, annoyed, like she's trying to escape, or she is sitting on my face - literally smothering me with 26 lbs of stankbutt.
She's a ridiculously smart, absolutely precocious and defiant toddler who currently hates Me. We're into day seventeen of hostile negotiations.
I'll describe the offense that started World War Pia vs Me, and and translation will be provided for those not versed in toddler-speak.
The Scene: Pia's house, staircase leading from main to second level
The Witnesses: Nana, Papa, anyone within a 14-mile radial earshot
The Perp: Auntie Me
The Victim: Pia
The Crime: Pia playing on the steps. I politely ask her to stop, explaining it's dangerous. Pia smiles and continues climbing around whilst staring Me down. I give a second warning, then position myself within grabbing distance before using a Very Stern Voice.
Me: Pia! I t-t-t-t-t-old you N-N-N-N-NOOOO.
Pia: (Leaps in alarm at my voice and as I extract her from said steps, she goes limp and dangles dramatically from one arm. Her face turns purple and she emits a scream only heard before in the depths of a hell where Celine Dion and Mariah Carey both sing simultaneously into my aching ears.)
Me: I'm putting the gate up now because you didn't listen.
Pia: (Continues multiple rounds of banshee screaming as I wait for the veins in her fat little forehead to rupture. After the fourth or fifth terrornade**, I can see the effort is weakening her. She's faltering - taking just a moment too long between howls.)
Me: (Screams right back in her face.)
Pia: (Jumps in alarm, smiled for a a moment, then remembers she's mad at Me.)
The Interrogation: Me patiently discusses the incident with Pia, the goal an acceptance of fault on Pia's part.
Me: Pia, are you feeling angry?
Pia: Angry! Me! Gate Up!
Me: Yes, I did put up the gate. You weren't listening.
Pia: Angry! Me! Gate Up!
Me: Pia, can you understand that you weren't listening? You weren't following Me's instructions and it wasn't safe.
Pia: (walks away, ignoring Me completely and headed toward her kitchen playset)
Nana: Pia, what are you doing?
Pia: (in a vaguely murderous tone of voice) Knife. Cutting.
I've been avoiding her out of fear for my life, but family vacation starts tomorrow. I'm meeting her in a neutral location with multiple witnesses, and I will come armed with her demands - two puppies*** - plus a stuffed turtle and a purse printed with puppies because obviously this girl has nothing at all in life if she's forced to play on the steps.
Should I go go missing in the next 72 hours, the primary suspect**** is 34 inches tall, weighs 27 lbs and goes by the name of Pia. She has dark, lovely eyes (don't be fooled!) and wild curly brown hair. She can often be found anywhere she is not allowed to be.
My Magic 8-Ball is alarmed that it may go down this way, so in the the interest of precautionary disclosure, I present you with this sketch. Feel free to turn it over to the police if I am determined to be officially missing (and not just in Hayward without WiFi).
Lastly, I will apologize to anyone who may be be offended that I post something so silly and dramatic during these times of literal world strife - but here's the fuckin' deal: if I don't LAUGH at life right now, I will CRY until I drown.
And with that, I will now try to finish packing for a desperately needed and deeply relaxing vacation at the lake with my family and the tiny murderess.
*I don't always put one and one together. Sometimes it takes a week - or a calculator - or eons.
** Terrornade; noun
- a serenade choreographed by a bipolar toddler for the express purpose of ruining your day & eardrums
***Stuffed puppies, because although I want a truce with my niece, I don't want a new World War with my brother and his wife.
****I actually have video proof of her anger toward me - she agrees on film that she's still very angry with Me. Of of COURSE, I've been trying for two days to upload the videos and they disappear each time. It's likely a conspiracy.