When I found out that last crotch parasite did not, in fact, come with a penis, I will fully admit to you, Pranksters, that I cried. Not like the big UGLY cry, but still, there were some tears. I’d wanted a daughter so badly and this was my last baby and I’d always sort of pictured my life surrounded by a sea of sausages. I’d never thought I’d be lucky enough to have a daughter.
And there she was, resplendent in her pixelated glory, mooning me on the ultrasound screen. My Amelia. Clearly, her mother’s daughter.
When she was born, she was a sleepy little thing, all big bush-baby brown eyes, sweet as pie, even through her brain surgery. We can all now safely say that she handled it better than the rest of us did, and it wasn’t until she started moving that I really noticed something.
Amelia is…okay, I’m just going to say it. Amelia is the Incredible Hulk. You take something away from her and she’s all “HULK SMASH, ME ANGRY, I KILL YOU WHILE YOU SLEEP WOMAN.” I’m actually sort of afraid to go to sleep without locking my doors, which is a FIRE HAZARD, yo. You know I am Captain Safety, Internet.
She’s just so fucking determined to get what she wants that I fear for anyone–or anything–that dares to get in her way.
See, I took the TV remote away from her the other day, because she’s destroying it, right? And I swear to Baby Jesus, the girl is now planning to somehow hoist a dead, bloody horse head into bed next to me now. She may weigh 23 pounds, but that is 23 pounds of DOOM that will fuck your shit UP when you don’t give her the motherfucking remote.
Because I am also a slave laborer, I make my eldest empty the dishwasher–a task that my youngest also loves to help with. And by “help” I mean, “strew the silverware around the kitchen.” So my mom was trying to hold Amelia OUT of the dishwasher so that it could be done in a fraction of the time and perhaps no one would get a concussion from a rogue, flying knife.
Amelia was all, “FUCK YOU” and screamed and slithered and writhed until she was put down, where she very happily collected all of the clean spoons. Then she tried to beat her brother about the head with them until I pried them from her hands, and I swear she looked at me with murder in her mind. Luckily, she cannot kill me with spoons, because I hid them all.
The girl is seriously going to break bones, suck the marrow out and then beat someone to death with the hollow empty shells.
When I noted this to my mother, she said, “Oh, she reminds me of someone that I know.”
Thinking she probably meant John Wayne Gacy, I said, “Pogo, the Killer Clown?”
She didn’t even laugh before looking hard at me and saying, “No, Rebecca. YOU.” Then she kept staring at me like I was supposed to say something.
Eventually I retorted with, “Well…the prospect of eating bone marrow makes me want to puke.”
And then I reached for the number for my GP to see if he can put me in a coma for the next 18 or so years.
Here you see Amelia rocking out with a homemade shiv. She’s about to cut her brother for hogging the water bucket.
What I didn’t tell you is that every Easter, every time we got any sort of animal-themed cake, I ate the head. I INSISTED upon eating the head. This is the lamb cake BEFORE I ate the motherfucker’s head.
I guess that she’s my daughter after all.