Why 2 Year Olds Are Everything I Aspire to Be

I may be one of the few basic bitches that over uses the term “Spirit Animal” (JK every white girl does), but 2-year-olds are my most recent (of about 20) spirit animals. My newly acquired job has me acting as the primary caregiver to 6, yes I said 6, two-year-olds. Typically, 3 girls and 3 boys. All in one small room, all running and screeching and behaving like the tiny, beautiful tiny savages that they rightfully are. I know what you’re thinking. “Wow 6 toddlers, that absolutely sounds like an actual slice of shit induced hell.” And don’t get me wrong, I have my days where I want to hang them all up by the nape of their necks, and YES I stick my finger in poop at least once a day, but they’re hilarious and wonderfully entertaining for so many reasons. Prepare yourself to all of a sudden want your own.

My favourite kind of asshole, the toddler.

They will take what they want, whenever the fuck they want it. Before the world crushes their can-do attitude and instills the need to say please and thank-you and shit, those little fuckers will take whatever they want and fuck you right in the mouth if you say or do anything to foil their little evil plans. If they want that truck in that other assholes hand, they’ll come right up and push him right the fuck down, pull hair or whatever needs to be done to acquire the goods. And then, will express no remorse whatsoever, almost like a very, very small dictator. It’s admirable.

They make absolutely no apologies for their completely out of proportion, fully irrational emotional responses to average shit. I know, I know, they aren’t fully developed to have like… the mental and emotional capacity to cope with bigger emotions like fear, anger and sadness. But the complete and utter breakdown over taking off their shoes or not letting them climb out the window amazes me. Imagine if we all existed with that kind of emotional honesty. Instead we get passive-egressive and overly condescending in order to cope with our hurt wittle feewings.

They are so, SO easily entertained. Last week I put a bucket of raw, coloured macaroni on the ground for them to play with and they lost their damn minds. One of the boys maniacally laughed as he waved his hands back and forth in the pasta. It might have been the greatest thing to happen to them since the realization they should shit and piss wherever they damn well felt like. Once again, IMAGINE if adults were that easily entertained. I could sit on my bathroom floor with a pile of toilet paper rolls, half of them in my mouth and be in absolute heaven, instead I wander around my house bemoaning about how bored I am and how there is NOTHING to watch on Netflix.

And finally, they are amazingly awkward, goofy drunken little people. When they try to run or jump or do anything that requires co-ordination, it gives me fond memories of what I imagine I must look like after 6 paralyzers and a Jimmy Buffet song comes on. Awkward little fucks, god love ’em.