Introducing my Toddler Terrorist

I would like you to meet my pint sized terrorist, Boo.
Boo has recently moved from sweet and happy baby to crying, scream, no spewing, feet stomping, crying hostage taker.
I am one of the two hostages.
I would like to have someone please negotiate my release. (The Man, the other hostage, can negotiate his own release. Love only goes so far, baby!)
Boo is not following any variation of the Geneva Convention or any other standards for POW treatment.
I definitely have not gotten my package from the American Red Cross. BTW, I don't want a cookie--I want hard liquor and Valiums.
Allow me to tell you about my day under my hostage taker's wee little thumb--and he pressing me down into a smooshed mama patty as we speak.
Boo rises in the morning and demands milk/juice/money while holding his grubby beloved bear. When you ask him how he slept, he puffs out the lower lip, howls "No!" and the tears begin flowing.
During breakfast, you offer cereal. No, he wants pop turds. Then when you provide a pop turd he wants cereal.
Boo walks up in your face while you are resting and growls/roars in your face.
Boo is ALWAYS hurt and ALWAYS wants a bandage.
The drink he request five seconds ago is no longer desired. You took too long. Now he wants something strange called "yellow" and nothing but yellow will do.
If Bear gets dirty, he must immediately be washed. And you must drop everything to insure eteh washing/drying cycle takes no more than five minutes or you will be tortured with "Is Bear done yet?" for however long it takes for you to hand him a wet Bear.
If you have popcorn before bedtime, prepare to share. Amend that--prepare to hand over the entire blasted bowl to your pint sized prison guard. If you get one kernel, count yourself lucky.
Brushing teeth requires screaming, coughing, tears, and trials. Maybe two teeth got clean.
I am requesting that I be freed. I am requesting that my consul do everything in their power to free my from my Baby Bin Laden.