It started with the anti-breakfast movement. Waffles? No! Fruit? No! Cereal?! No thank you. Well, at least there was a thank you in there. So the battle raged on.
The other night, after being told (for the 100th time) that the remote isn't a toy, this child threw herself on the ground in a full-blown temper tantrum, complete with kicking legs and screams. I pointed at her, looked at Matt, and asked [all together now...] WHO IS SHE!?!?
The latest assault has been launched at bed time. We go through the same routine. Every night. We do not stray. Every night. Then suddenly, one evening this week, it was as if I'd left her in that room with a savage pack of lions or something. She stood at the end of her crib (we have a video monitor), armed with her blankie and her treasured copy of Guess How Much I Love You, screaming at the top of her lungs. As I recall, it goes something like, "Na-na-NA MOOOOOOMMYYYYY!!!!!" Throw "DADDYYYYY!" in there a few times, too. Holy love.
But hey, I still love her.
