Should I take a toddler to the park or just throat-punch myself?

You probably ask yourself that question all the time. I know I do. That's why I'm here to tell you what taking a toddler to the park is like. Because I care. 

1. Get your toddler dressed. Brush her hair and teeth. This process will involve an hour of coaxing, pleading, whining and crying, until you finally resort to time outs. It will take an average of six minutes in a corner before she decides to let you put her goddamn pants on. 

2. Ask her whether she needs to go potty. She says no. 

3. Put her in her car seat. Ask her whether she wants her sippy cup. She says no.

4. Get in the driver's seat. Listen to her whine because she wants her sippy cup. Try to give her her sippy cup, but she's too busy whining about wanting her sippy cup to take it. She both wants her cup and doesn't want her cup. She exists in a personal state of flux that allows for both of these things to be true at once. Eventually, she starts whining about some indeterminate thing she won't verbalize. 

5. Decide that if you have to listen to this whining the entire way to the park, you are going to off-road your car right into the retention pond near your house. Get out of the car and let her sort that shit out privately while you screw around on your phone. 

6. She finally stops whining. Get in the car and drive to the park. 

7. Arrive at the park and ask her whether she has to go potty. She says no. 

8. Spend 5  minutes wandering back and forth between the swings, the sandpit and the slide while she talks about playing with things but doesn't actually play with anything. 

9. Watch the panic in her eyes as she pees her pants. 

10. Run to the restroom in case there's more. Also, she might be shitting herself, too. There's no time to waste sniffing her ass on the playground. Run, run, run!

11. Sigh in relief that it's only pee. Pull up her pants. 

12. Drive home. Morning at the park called on account of pee. 

13. Drink heavily at 11 am.