A short poem about why I am scared of my two year old

Just hear me out...

I am afraid of my two year old

it’s true

when she wakes from her nap the earthquake begins

she hates me

and loves me

I can’t pick her up

and she wants to be held

she is half not sure

and almost certain

partly asleep, and mostly awake

I’m saying too much, and not saying enough.

I am panic dressed in calm while she screams fire.

So I spend the next 30 minutes offering her everything

and nothing.

dancing on eggshells

contemplating if naps are worth it

contemplating life.

They say all you can do is be there

like it’s some easy bloody thing.

And then, a small tremor, a long sigh.

She’s back.

My sweet, fiery, terrifying two year old

like nothing ever happened

when her hands cup my face,

like all is forgotten

while I sit in the aftershocks,

cuddling her on the couch.

I’m serious though - what is it with naps? She used to wake up at me smiling?