Sticky hands + cotton balls = thisWhen people spoke of the "Terrible Twos," I always thought of it as a phase. Like, a gradual descent into temper tantrumdom, with a gradual ascent into not-as-adorable, but still cute kidhood.
I was wrong.
The "Terrible Twos" came to our house yesterday like a package arriving in the mail. Just when I was feeling Brangelina in my baby-making desires - "But seven just seems too small!" - I was faced with the most evil, the most defiant Miss Dub I'd ever met - and she's not even two until October.
It began with a battle over wearing a diaper. Not knowing I was about to sink into the depths of motherhood, I took this to be a sign that potty training had arrived. (Not the best timing since I'm leaving for two weeks on Friday. Oops, didn't I tell you already?) I said, "Well, if you don't want to wear a diaper, you can sit on the potty and ..." (I'll spare those without children the cutesy phrases I use to refer to our excrement.)
That was when I got a diaper throw in my face, while Miss Dub shouted, "No potty! No diaper! Naaaaked!"
I'll spare you the nitty-gritty on the rest of the day, but there was a two-hour battle over wearing shorts, a battle over coming inside, a battle over taking a nap, a battle over leaving Target without purchasing a very large doll house, which she physically removed from the shelf herself.
And then, just when I thought she was ready to rest from her loud labors, she preceded to screech when I put her to bed. I did the typical mom debate - Is she hurt/sad/soiled v. Will she become spoiled/dependent/needy? - ultimately siding with my eardrums and the very real possibility that someone would call CPS on me. THREE times I tried to get her back into bed with various bribery techniques, including stuffed animals, books and "candy milk" - vanilla soy milk - all to no avail.
At 10 p.m., she finally fell asleep on Mr. Dub's lap while watching "The Office."
So now I'm thinking five kids might be just right.
What about you?
