I love my toddler dearly, but she is a handful and a half sometimes.
Caroline was born prematurely, and when she was younger, she had a gross motor delay. She didn’t crawl until she was 13 months or walk until she was a little over 18 months, and she reached those milestones with the help of physical therapy. Everyone told me, “be grateful she’s not mobile! You’ll miss these days when she just sits and plays with toys and can’t move around and cause trouble!” and I always wanted to punch those people in the face because hello that is not P.C. to say to someone whose baby has a delay. When she finally did walk, I was so thrilled that I didn’t even care how much trouble she got into.
Now, well… I guess I see what they were saying.
Take last night, for example. I started the tub running for Caroline’s bath and brought her out of the bathroom with me to get her pajamas and diaper. She raced back, pushed the button on the doorknob to lock the door, and slammed the door shut. With the tub still running inside. I stifled a four-letter word (with limited success) and grabbed my toolkit for a skinny screwdriver to stick in the little hole in the back of the doorknob. As I struggled to pick the lock, Caroline snatched the hammer out of the toolkit and proceeded to try to break down the door with it, yelling “KNOCK KNOCK! KNOCK KNOCK!!” and none of this is made up.
My friend suggested that I tape the buttons on the doorknobs so that she couldn’t lock the doors, and I thought that was a great idea… except I was out of tape because Caro had recently stolen it and unrolled it to make a giant sticky blob, which she had then ever-so-thoughtfully attached to my bedroom mirror.
I am totally writing myself a prescription for Xanax. (Or a nanny. Can you write a prescription for a nanny? Note to self: email the DEA about that.)
Other times her devilish streak has nothing to do with her actions. She usually comes into my room when she wakes up in the morning and asks to “snuggle wif mommy”, which is adorable. I pulled her into my bed the other morning and she lay there quietly for awhile before asking, “Mommy?”
Caro: “I think I not be good girl today. I not.”
Me: “Oh? I think I’m glad you’re going to daycare today.”
At least it makes for good stories. What devilish things do your kids do that make you want to want to simultaneously rip your hair out and laugh out loud?