January 15, 2014

The Scarlett Letters: let's get a few things straight...

Dearest Lemon-pie,


Eh, I'm half kidding. Let's just say you've been "testy" lately ... and trying every ounce of patience I have. Some days I'm not sure who's winning. It seems that you believe that I am winning and I believe that you are winning. So we battle harder.

Let's clear up a few things...

You are 27 months old. How is it that you are strutting around the house like you just paid off the mortgage? You're constantly throwing your things everywhere, tossing food on the ground like this is some half-assed diner. Demanding diaper changes, snacks and Mickey videos. Listen up, kid, I run the show.

If I say we are drying your hair post-bath so your teeth will stop chattering - it's happening.

When I tell you to stop using the television screen as an easel - STOP IT.

When I put dinner in front of you which you refuse to eat and you immediately pull the pin on your little grenade - you aren't getting your wish of cookies, your alternate option is yogurt or nothing.

Just because I accidentally zipped your skin in your jacket ONE TIME doesn't mean that every zipper is going to ruin your life. I SAID I WAS SORRY, CRIPES !!! Let it go, kid.

When you flail around like a lunatic during our bedtime rocking/reading session it only makes me shorten the ritual. I feel like Danny DeVito trying to rock Shaq up there. You are clearly longer than my lap and legs, I know it's awkward - I can't stretch out like taffy so please try to settle in and just enjoy it. I'm pretty sure that glider is about to collapse any day now anyway.

When it's nap time and you run into the corner I can still see you. I will come get you, peel you from the floor and carry your arched body to the crib. It's going to happen.

When you decide that you can't handle the skin from the tomatoes or that you don't like blueberries today you needn't hand me every single unacceptable morsel to be taken to the trash that very moment - you can keep them on your plate until meal time is over.

You cannot eat all of the marshmallows out of the cereal canister. Mallow Oats will simply be OATS if you do that. Trust me, it's better this way.

Stop sticking your head through the bannister. Just stop it.

The staircase is not a place to put on a jazz show. Just move your bum up the stairs and don't worry about who carries blanky and who carries bunny. We will all be together again in fifteen seconds.

I always love you. Even when you're driving me mad because you refuse to have your nails clipped and I have to go sit in the other room on the couch for two minutes and breathe- I love you. When you roll over on the changing table like an alligator nailing its prey because I'm trying to get the "floofies" out of your nose and you've got some kind of mental block against tissues and q-tips - I love you. When you throw rocks at the glass door - I love you. When you take it upon yourself to get the chapstick out of the "do not enter" drawer - I love you.

It is apparent that you are going to fight me on everything for the next couple of years and I'm going to do my best to mentally (and physically) prepare myself. (Think: running bleachers and meditation). You're beyond stubborn. Potty training will most definitely have me rocking in a corner somewhere. But I love you. You're my wonderful, smart, adorably funny little girl. You're going to be a huge challenge but it's alright - we will get through it.


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