Anyone have a toddler who is sweet and cute and cuddly?  Easy to be around until... Well, until they aren't?  No?  Liar.

Kate is a complete and total diva when she is sick.  The past few days she has had a stomach bug and a virus and has occasionally complained of a sore throat.  But before she ever gets sick, presents with a fever, or starts picking at her food with the look of doom on her face we know.  Because our sweet little girl morphs into a little mini devil. 



You know the rider clauses that celebrities have on their contracts in order to be pampered comfortable on the road?  Kate is the Mariah Carey of toddlers.  The queen diva.  Her demands while sick are impossible, and her tantrums are insane.  She is like an out of control rock star in a hotel room with her groupies.  Only her groupies are My Little Ponies and American Girl Dolls. Her victims are Connor, John, myself and the dog.  And the occasional bystander (sorry UPS delivery man!).

1.  Connor may not look at me, touch me, play with my toy or any toy of his that I have thought about playing with in the last hour.  If he does, I will scream at the top of my lungs, grab said toy, and then throw a tantrum.

2.  I will only drink Pediasure.  The strawberry kind.  If you approach me with white milk or water I will give you the death stare and run the other direction.

3.  Taking my temperature is a privilege.  The thermometer must take no less than 15 seconds to beep.  Or else.

4.  Sleep is for wussies.  If I choose to sleep it will be in my own time, and wherever I deem necessary.

4a.  Your sleep is a privilege.  Remember when I was a newborn?  Yea, divide that sleep in half and be thankful for what you get.

5. Leila (the dog), may not step into my room unless she has my explicit permission.  If I choose to have her in my room, she must be there immediately.  No excuses.

6. If you must rearrange my room for any reason (throwing up, coughing, etc), I reserve the right to question every towel, trashcan, and box of tissues you place.  I reserve the right to ask you to rearrange them and will throw them out of my room if I'm not pleased with their feng shui. 

7.  My diet will consist of clementines and fruit snacks.  Although I may ask for a waffle or sandwich, ultimately my diet will only be clementines and fruit snacks.

8.  All of the typical daily occurences will now be a WWE fight.  This includes going to the bathroom, getting dressed, brushing my hair, and wearing seasonally appropriate clothing.  Mittens and hats are for losers.

9.  Medicine must taste good.  If it doesn't, I will lock my jaw and hide behind the couch.  What "tastes good" to me might change by the hour and what you give me in the morning might not meet my standards in the evening.  Red and sweet is typically okay.  If it is white you are out of luck.

10.  I reserve the right to add, subtract, or retract anything within this contract.  My three (and a half) year old brain doesn't need to be logical to you, it is completely logical to me.

Here's to hoping that she wakes up her healthy sweet and happy self tomorrow.  My nerves are frayed and we are both sick and tired of her living in time out chair and/or hiding from me because I am trying to torture her with a thermometer or water or medicine.