Those were moments.
I have discovered that my version of the terrible twos was a cake walk. It was rainbows and daisies and fluffy bunnies. I didn't know it then, but the twos were a dream.
We are one solid day into the threes and I am getting a little worried.
She is sassy to say the least. She says things about my 'big old butt' and points out my moles, freckles, zits. She has some catch phrases, that are about to push me right off the reservation.
- One minute! (Huff)
- OKAY! I said ENOUGH! (Huff)
- Fine, I'll DO IT! Gimme a minute. (Huff)
- I don't want to! NO THANK YOU! (Huff)
- I told you I DID. I told you. (Huuuuuufffff)
Most of this is said with rolling eyes or hands on the hips or stomps. Occasionally, an index finger is wagged in my general direction.
I swear, you can see the attitude swirling above her head.
Bedtime is a nightmare - she has been getting up, several times a week, multiple times a night. For a run to the potty, for a tissue, to check on the cat. Twice in the past week or so we've found her sound asleep on the stairs and under a blanket in the middle of the kitchen floor.
We've taken away stuffed animals, privileges and so on - thus far the only thing that is effective in keeping her arse in bed is to take away her dresses. All of them. You know you are the mother of a princess when the only fate worse than death is having to wear shorts.
For the record, tomorrow she's wearing shorts.
One day in and it's all defiance and testing and sassiness and volume. Those 'terrible twos'? I miss them. I mourn them. And now I face what appears to be the terrifying threes.
Pass the wine please.