Something terrible has happened. Her eyes are wild. She’s looking at us, through us, into our souls, our hearts. Desperation is seeping from her pores. She’s tearing up, weaping, begging. When Mommy can’t be persuaded, she calls for Daddy. Surely Daddy will help her. Daddy will ease her pain, calm her nerves, give her a ‘fix’.
Our worst fears have been realized. Our daughter has an addiction and she needs help.
‘Hi, my name is Eirinn and I’m a Go, Diego, Go-aholic,’ although I don’t think she’d be willing to admit it.
We’re not sure if we should quit her cold turkey, or if we should limit her to one episode a day, but something’s gotta give. She could watch episode after episode after episode all day. And probably all night if she didn’t need that darn sleep. Not that we’ve allowed her to watch all day, but after a couple of episodes, (thanks to that devil in disguise, the PVR) she begs us for more, more, more ‘Eggo’. No other show will do.
(Just kidding, PVR. I love you. You’re not mad at me for saying that, are you? Good. See you later for Big Brother.)
I think we’re going to try to go a week Diego-free, see how the withdrawal symptoms go – the sweating, the itching – then maybe allow one episode per day, if she asks. It’ll be hard. Especially when Diego really is a good show for little ones. She learns about a new animal every day. What they eat, who they’re afraid of, what sound they make. But we’re going to have to stick together. A united front against the evils of this addiction. Because it is an addiction. As soon as she sees the tv, she’s all ‘Eggo, Eggo, Eggo. EGGO, EGGO, EGGO!!! MOMMYDADDYMOMMYDADDYEGGOEGGOEGGO!!! Clap, Clap, Clap, Aaaa-go.’
Pray for us. We might be too weak to fight the cute. Aw, look at how her eyes glaze over when she’s in her drunken, Diego stooper…