Girl Terror has realized that a conversation can be stretched indefinitely if she just pretends to not understand a word I say. For example:
Me: GT, please go put this in the laundry.
GT: The laundry? What laundry?
Me: You know. The laundry basket.
GT: (as she wanders down the hall) Where laundry? Where it go? In the hall? MOMMM! Where the laundry go to? In the bathroom? Here? HERE, MOOMMMM??
This morning I asked her to put her nighttime diaper in the garbage. In the bathroom garbage, which is the only one in the house she has access to. I really should have taken my medication first.
Me: Go pee, and put your diaper in the garbage.
GT: I don't have to pee.
Me: Okay. Just go put the diaper in the garbage, and put on panties, please.
GT: (Bounding around naked) Put it in the garbage? What garbage?
Me: In. The. Garbage.
GT: In the bathroom? Hmm, Mummy?
Me: (Shouting from Boy Terror's change table, as I wrestle a naked baby) YES!!!
GT: Mummy? In the garbage, in the kitchen, in the diaper genie?
Me: IN THE BATHROOM GARBAGE NOW!!!
GT: What? What, Mummy? In this garbage? In this bathroom? Hey, Mummy? Oh-oh. I gotta pee. Where I put this diaper while I pee?
I long for revenge. I cannot wait until she is a teenager, and I can drill her mercilessly. "You're going? Out? Where out? When will you be going? Now? Right now, or later now? When will you be back? Later tonight, or later this week? How much later? Where did you say you were going?"