Too much sugar?

     Today Clara woke up from her morning nap while I was in the bathroom.
     "Mommy! Mommy!" she called from her room.
     "I hear ya, Love.  Give me a sec'."
     "Mooooommmyyyyy." Like an opera singer.
     "I'm trying to pee!!" I yelled.  Then, "Mama's going potty, Love."
     "MOMMY! MOMMY! MOMMY!"  Like a bus horn.
      I brought her downstairs.  I remembered the iced lemon pound cake from Starbucks I'd bought yesterday, but hadn't eaten.
     "Do you want a dog with cheese?" I asked.
     "Yes," she said.
     I was still holding her because, after she wakes up, she must go through a ten-minute stint on my hip. Minimal. It's like she has to get her land legs again after the sea of sleep.
     I casually reached in the cupboard with my free hand, opened the Starbucks package, and quickly popped a bit of the pound cake into my mouth.  I almost moaned, it was so delicious. Clara saw what I was doing.
     "Mommy! Me wannu!"
    "Just a bite, " I gave her a small crumble.  She wanted another, and another.  I started taking big bites of the pound cake, rushing.  She shrieked in indignation as I bit into a particularly delicious length of frosting-smeared goodness.
    "Okay, that's it, that's it," I said, hurriedly putting the rest into the bag and shoving it back into the cupboard.
     I brought out the brick of cheese.
     "I gotta put you down to cut the cheese, okay?" I said, setting her down on the kitchen floor.
     "Aaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!" she screamed, throwing her head back and then folding forward until her chest touched the floor.
     "I've been trying to do that pose for ages in yoga," I thought.  I put the cheese on a tofu dog and put it in the microwave.  Her little face was bright red with rage. When I picked her up, I saw she'd left a puddle of tears and spit on the floor.  I kissed her firm, teary cheeks.
     After she'd had her cheese dog, she wanted to sit in a big-person's chair at the kitchen table.  Then she wanted to sit in my chair.  She pulled me out of my chair by my hands and hustled me out of the way.
     "Kiki!" she said after she was settled.
     "No way.  You've already had a bunch of sugar today."
     "KIKI!"
     "A cookie is a sometimes food, Love," I said.  Unfortunately, in our house, "sometimes" is every day.  My eyes wandered to the box of walnut chocolate-chip cookies in the pantry.
     I brought out the bag of prunes.  Clara loves prunes.
     "Here, I'll even let you pick one out," I said.
     She reached into the bag and swirled all the prunes around.  She got one, examined it, and and then put it back.
     "Okay, take one," I said.
     She found a big one, stuffed the whole thing into her mouth and chewed slowly and with relish.  After a minute she took the mangled slime out of her mouth and put it back into the bag.