As a parent, you are allowed to have an okay day with your child, even a good one. But don't ever have a great day, and never think to yourself "Hey, I can do this"--or you will pay for it. I'm not talking crazy, here.

I foolishly blogged about what a great day R and I had on Monday. Foolish! Despite a happy dinner Monday night to the accompaniment of Sleigh Ride, on constant reply per R's request and which she adorably scrunched up her shoulders in pleasure at hearing for the first time, it's been steadily downhill from there. Also, A will be away this weekend to attend a friend's wedding somewhere outside Tokyo, so I have no weekend to hang in there for.

Teething again, but this time, it was reach-for-the-Motrin-but-yes-I-do-know-about-the-latest-recall-thanks bad. Today, R was so hysterical and clingy that I was sure I heard a shhhhtuck! noise every time I tried to separate her little body from mine.

I do feel that I am being punished, somehow, for having the audacity to not be a maternal woman. I don't have any natural desire to coddle, fawn over, or care for needy creatures. I in fact do not like needy people. Or animals. Which is why it's funny that I ended up with not one but two (or three, if you count my husband) extremely needy people in my home: R and Edward. Edward being the dog. If you are scoffing at that, you've never raised a puppy with severe separation anxiety. Edward came to us at the tender age of two months, and the first month, he wouldn't eat unless I sat on the floor, right next to him. The first three months, he lived in my lap. The first six months, I couldn't take a shower without hearing him screaming and clawing at the shower door the entire time. The first three years (or maybe more?), we couldn't leave him home alone uncrated unless we wanted to return to a thoroughly trashed apartment.

Now R. Sigh. She is such a great little kid. But her fear of everyone who isn't me, her inability to play for even five minutes by herself, her demand that I be her constant entertainment--today, I seriously thought about connecting my head with the Le Creuset casserole pot in order to get some alone-time.

Then just now, while I was rushing around trying to get dinner prepped, I felt eyes boring into the back of my head, turned, and found Edward standing at the entrance to the kitchen looking at me. You have to have a dachshund of your own to understand, but they don't stare at you like normal dogs do. They have a look. It's sort of mournful and condemning, and it makes you worry. I just checked and he's still looking at me. Maybe he needs to poo again.