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11 Times I Let My Toddler Own Me

I always thought my husband would be the softie when we had our daughter. Of the two of us, I have the harder personality and less patience. Seeing the way my husband would hold and kiss and dance with our daughter when she was a baby, I would always say, "Oh man, she's going to have you wrapped around her tiny finger. She's going to own you."

And it's true, my husband is coiled tightly around my daughter's tiny finger tighter than my wedding band the morning after I've eaten Panda Express. But, the thing is, my daughter has worked her filthy, cute little magic on me, too. And she all but owns me now.

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Don't get me wrong, I don't cave every time, and I do actually find it important to set boundaries and teach my daughter to respect me. But as hard as I try, sometimes I just can't help but give in to her big, hypnotizing orbs or the disarmingly cute pleas uttered in her native toddler tongue. Here are 11 things that have happened of late that prove that I am a total sucker!

1. I let my 2-year old use the forbidden markers that she eventually used to draw all over her arms because she called me Queen Mommy and told me I was beautiful.

As it turns out, I'm really the idiot jester here to entertain and bow to Her Highness, my toddler.

2. I spent $9 on the rotating "Frozen" lollipop because my daughter loved the way Anna waved.

I could have bought something useful or at least something not so stupid: a pound of asparagus, dryer sheets, a box of tampons, anything! Instead I contributed further to the evil "Frozen" empire and sent my daughter farther down the road to cavities and irresponsible spending habits.

I'd rather don Minnie Mouse stickers all over my limbs and face than don the cloak of most hated passenger on flight 897.

3. I sometimes give in to my daughter's pleas to watch one episode of "Peppa Pig" on my phone while lying in bed with her at night.

I told myself and my husband, "NO DEVICES IN BED!" And I stuck to my own rule for about three weeks, until one night, my nocturnal creature of a daughter nearly broke me with her infinite energy reserves and requests for "one more story." After story nine, when my storytelling effort was in the red, I reached for my phone and turned on YouTube. You win, 2-year-old. You win.

4. And "sometimes" I give in to two episodes.

Because sometimes she's snuggled up close to you and giggling at that pig family so hard that you're just like, "Bring on more British pigs jumping in muddy puddles, dammit!"

5. I changed my shirt because she said it felt scratchy on her cheek.

I actually pulled three different shirts from their hangers, let her face-test each one and wore the one she handed me. Who am I? What have I become? A full-blown sucker.

6. I worked for three hours from inside my daughter's IKEA tent.

She had hauled in a pillow desk, my cell phone and some Goldfish crackers for my snack, how could I refuse? I called my husband and told him I'd be WFT (working from tent) if he needed me.

7. I sang her 17 bedtime songs the other night. SEVENTEEN!

And I was happy to do it. Sing all the songs on the "Whitney Houston" and "Whitney" albums without anyone stopping me? Am I dreaming? Well, my toddler was. She had fallen asleep at song five.

8. I gave up going out with my husband's friends because my toddler didn't want me to leave her.

"Don't go, Mommy! Stay home and cuddle me!" she frantically pleaded as she clung to my leg and looked up at me with sad, sad, doe eyes. Hmmm. I can go out to a pub called the Dog House with my husband's blokey friends and hear about rugby for two hours straight while eating soggy nachos or get into sweats and cuddle my daughter IN BED. I did the math. The only correct answer was the latter.

9. I let her cover my arms and face with stickers during the descent on our last plane ride just to keep her from going berserk.

I'd rather don Minnie Mouse stickers all over my limbs and face than don the cloak of most hated passenger on flight 897 while receiving dagger stares and risking getting arrested when someone says the wrong thing in the height of flying-with-a-toddler tension.

10. I let her watch The Wiggles.

This may be the sign that I have lost all control. I guess with enough snuggles and pushed out bottom lips I am capable of overcoming my aversion to grown men dressed in primary colors and really tight slacks (but not in a good way) doing patty cake moves and awkward grapevines to a song about fruit salad.

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11. I did a whole Rockettes routine just so she would eat half a stalk of broccoli.

Forget the "here comes the airplane or the choo choo train" charades, how about a two-minute routine of high kicks, fan kicks and time steps all while singing, "Put the pasta shell-y in your belly," to the tune of Destiny Child's "Bootylicious"

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