And then I had a girl.
And then she turned 2.
And then she started throwing fits.
Like lay down on the floor and kick your leg fits.
(There may have been one in the middle of Old Navy once. I may have told her that if she didn't stop I would be forced to just drag her out by her legs. She may not have stopped. Old Navy was appreciative of the quick sweep job we did. I mean, maybe).
Anyway, Emmy is dramatic.
And while (again) there is not one story to do this justice - I have to pause to pay tribute to this tiny little, cuter than I like to admit, spitfire of a 2 year old.
Recent fits include:
- Putting her hair in a pony tail
- Putting her hair in pigtails
- Putting a clip in her hair
- Basically her hair in general
- Getting water in her eyes
- Wearing anything other than a purple shirt
- Sharing toys
- Not sharing toys
- Wanting a band aid
- Not wanting a band aid
- Radley wanting to play with her
- Radley not wanting to play with her
- Being asked questions
- Reading a book
- Putting on shoes
- Taking off shoes
- Being offered help. Of any kind. For any reason. Because, "I do it, Mommy!"
With each fit comes a little attitude. It rises in force. She sits in her room and calms down. After a certain period of time we ask her if she wants to come join us in the other room. This is usually followed by a stern, "No. I on't want tew. I sit in my room!"
(confession - I am impersonating her as I type this).
Her brow furrows. Her face scrunches up. She tries to look mean.
We turn away in laughter.
Radley rolls his eyes.
Emmy eventually gets over it.
"I sorry, Mommy. Emmy HAPPY now!!"
This girl is going to cause me to drink. This girl is going to give me gray hairs. This girl is going to potentially send me to the nuthouse.
This girl has captured my whole heart. I don't want to think about life without her in it. She warms my soul.
Fits and all.