Things My Kid Cried About This Week: A Definitive List
I’ve been keeping a log. Not because anyone asked me to, but because I needed proof. Proof that I’m not losing my mind. Proof that the things making my child weep are, in fact, completely unhinged. Proof that I can show my therapist and say, “See? SEE?”
Here is a comprehensive, unedited, 100% real list of things my kid cried about this week.
I wish I were making any of this up.
Monday
7:12 AM — Cried because their waffle was “too waffle-y.”
7:14 AM — Cried because I took the waffle away to make something else.
7:15 AM — Cried because they wanted the waffle back.
8:30 AM — Cried because the dog looked at them.
8:31 AM — Cried because the dog stopped looking at them.
10:00 AM — Cried because they couldn’t fit inside the refrigerator. Not “reach something in” the refrigerator. Fit INSIDE it. Like, physically enter the appliance. When I explained that humans don’t live in refrigerators, they cried harder. Apparently this was news.
12:15 PM — Cried because their sandwich was cut into triangles. They wanted squares. I made new squares. They wanted triangles. I left the room. They ate the sandwich.
3:00 PM — Cried because a cloud looked weird.
6:45 PM — Cried because I wouldn’t let them drink bath water.
7:30 PM — Cried because bedtime exists as a concept.
Tuesday
6:58 AM — Woke up crying because they had a dream that I ate all the strawberries. I did not eat the strawberries. The strawberries were right there. Didn’t matter. The dream crime was unforgivable.
9:00 AM — Cried because their crayon broke. Not a special crayon. A brown crayon. Nobody’s favorite crayon. But today it was the most important crayon in the world and now it’s BROKEN and NOTHING WILL EVER BE OKAY AGAIN.
11:30 AM — Cried because they couldn’t take the playground home with us.
12:00 PM — Cried because I peeled their orange. How dare I provide them with accessible nutrition.
2:15 PM — Cried because the cat won’t wear the hat they made from a paper towel and tape. The cat is not sorry.
4:00 PM — Cried because they wanted to go outside. Took them outside. Cried because they wanted to go inside. Took them inside. Cried because they wanted to go outside. I am in purgatory.
7:00 PM — Cried because I turned off Bluey. I also cried because I turned off Bluey. Bandit is a better parent than all of us and we know it.
Wednesday
7:45 AM — Cried because their reflection in the mirror “was copying them.”
I have no follow-up to this.
9:30 AM — Cried because they wanted to wear shorts. It is February.
10:15 AM — Cried because gravity exists. They dropped a toy. I explained gravity. They did not accept gravity as a reasonable explanation.
11:00 AM — Cried because I said “good morning” and it was, technically, no longer morning. My bad. I’ve been corrected.
1:00 PM — Cried because a bird flew away. They wanted to keep it. As a friend. In their room. Forever.
3:30 PM — Cried because they couldn’t marry the dog.
5:00 PM — Cried because their sibling BREATHED in their direction. Not touched them. Not looked at them. Breathed. In their DIRECTION. I have been asked to adjudicate an airflow dispute.
8:00 PM — Cried because they were tired but didn’t want to sleep. This is the fundamental paradox of toddlerhood and I have no solution.
Thursday
7:00 AM — No crying. Suspicious. Something is coming.
7:02 AM — There it is. Cried because their socks have seams. THE SEAMS.
9:00 AM — Cried because I wouldn’t let them eat the stick they found at the park. “But it’s a GOOD stick.” I’m sure it is, buddy.
10:45 AM — Cried because the car made a left turn and they wanted to go right. I did not realize I needed to poll the backseat for navigational preferences.
12:30 PM — Cried because their banana broke in half. A banana. Broke. In half. You would think I had cancelled Christmas.
2:00 PM — Cried because they “miss dinosaurs.” They have never met a dinosaur. The grief is real.
4:30 PM — Cried because the wind “touched their face.” Filed under: invisible assault.
7:15 PM — Cried because I said “I love you” and they wanted to say it first. So I let them say it first. They cried because “it doesn’t count now.”
Friday
6:30 AM — Cried because it was morning. Same, kid. Same.
8:15 AM — Cried because they wanted cereal. Got cereal. Cried because they actually wanted toast. Got toast. Cried because they wanted cereal. I’m being played and I know it but I’m too tired to stop it.
10:00 AM — Cried because a cartoon character was sad. This one I actually understand. Pixar has no mercy.
12:00 PM — Cried because their grilled cheese “had cheese in it.” I… what would you like me to do with this information?
2:30 PM — Cried because they can’t remember being a baby. This got unexpectedly existential and I was not prepared.
4:00 PM — Cried because the sunset was “going away.” Tried to explain that it comes back. They didn’t believe me. Fair — I’ve broken promises before (see: waffle incident, Monday).
6:00 PM — DIDN’T cry at dinner. Breakthrough? Maybe they’ve turned a corner.
6:01 PM — Cried because their water was “too cold.” It was room temperature. We have not turned a corner.
Saturday & Sunday
I stopped writing things down because I ran out of emotional bandwidth and the pen I was using mysteriously ended up in the toilet.
What I’ve Learned
After a full week of documentation, I can confirm the following:
- There is no logic. Stop looking for it. It’s not there.
- Everything is simultaneously wanted and unwanted. Schrödinger’s waffle.
- The human emotional range is truly infinite and apparently peaks between ages 2-4.
- Crying is communication. It just happens to be the LOUDEST and LEAST SPECIFIC form of communication.
- This too shall pass. And then something even more absurd will happen.
The thing is, between all the tears, there were also belly laughs, spontaneous hugs, and moments of such pure, bizarre joy that I forgot about the sock seams and the grilled cheese controversy entirely.
Kids cry about weird stuff. That’s their whole deal. Our deal is to hand them tissues, keep a straight face, and write it all down so we can embarrass them at their wedding.
What did YOUR kid cry about this week? Share the absurdity @whydoihavekids — because solidarity is the only thing keeping us going. That and coffee.
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