katie vs. baby

first off, who recognizes the reference in this blogtitle? yep, it's cobra vs. baby.

and I'm referring to this incident because the baby of the house, this pouty three-year-old, has of late become bolder in her aggressive advances toward me, doing things like trying to stick her fingers up my nose. at first i thought that she was "playing," but now i feel like she was initiating a fight over her turf, baby-style.

the fight culminated yesterday in an ugly incident that has since rendered me a pariah not only to the baby but to her nana, Areli. Let me explain. So for the past few days, the baby (let's call her Xica da Silva) has been doing things like running into my room, stealing small objects like caramelos, trying to force these small objects into my mouth after rolling them around on the floor, sticking her fingers up my nose, etc. I thought that this was all harmless. but then yesterday morning i walk into my room and Xica has stolen my deoderant and is sort of examining it. i don't want her to eat it, so i start saying, no, no, no, that's not for babies, that's dangerous, etc. This - my stern, no-nonsense tone and hands-on-hips stance - prompts her to open her eyes and start jiggling her lower lip angrily and yell, "Fea!" at me, clearly mustering as much ire as she can. the word (the Word) came out in a sort of deep and threatening timbre, like "feeeeeaaaaaaaa." with an accusatory point of her finger (the same one she's been trying to stick in my nostril recently) she handed over the goods and slunk out of the room.

obviously you can't yell "fea" at a houseguest. so i reported this to her mother, who immediately looked apologetic but blamed it on Areli for not watching Xica closely enough. i really wanted to say, "no, it's not Areli's fault, your kid is incredibly spoiled," but i thought better of it. So now Areli hates me, and so does the kid. This morning I walked out of my room only to find Xica planted in front of the door on a tricycle. When she saw me (I made the mistake of saying good morning to her) she looked up at me spitefully, finger pointed at an invisible scarlet letter (F?) on my chest.

Oh well. I have to say, I don't really care. But I must say that Xica da Silva is threatening to become an overgrown brat, lazing around and watching telenovelas all day (as she already does), with her two little jaunty ponytails (I can imagine her as a 30-year-old with these vestigial ponytails) doing their best to counteract their owner's gloomy countenance.

Speaking of countenance, the other day she told me in no uncertain terms that she wanted to eat my face. Seriously. I'm only worried that this little explosion is going to prompt her to more assertive tasks of vengeance, like some sort of guerilla terrorist. maybe she'll bomb the bathroom. or maybe she'll hire some of the kids in the guardería to do it. i can see it now: a terrorist cell of kindergarten suicide bombers, the new vogue.