A few Ingrid-isms for posterity

I warned you about these. I'm a mom. I think everything my kid does is publishable material. Also, I had chemo today, so I'm protecting you from what would be an incoherent acid-trip-esque jumble of a post. Easier to just copy some sassy Ingrid quotes from my journal. Life is better this way.

A few nights ago, I was reading Ingrid a bedtime story. Mid-sentence, she clutches my thigh and blurts out with alarming enunciation: "You. Are. Fat." Paul is still stunned I have yet to embrace a strict diet of iceberg lettuce and water. 

Then this: In an unprovoked fit of rage, my delicate rose of a daughter threatened Paul with "I'm going to kill you—with boo-boos!" Probably, he was trying to change her diaper. Or give her dessert. Toddlers rarely make sense. 

And this morning: Ingrid struts into the bathroom with all the pomp that her 2-year-old self can muster. "Hey mommy. Remember me? I'm Ingrid."

"Um, yes. I remember you. You're the little devil who shattered my eyeshadow. Thanks for that, btw."
"Hey mommy. What's your deal?!?"

Things we say.