Well, my dearest daughter, you have been two for just over a month now, and all I can say is, "Wow!" If I didn't know better, I'd think daycare was offering you a secret course entitled: The Terrible Twos: How to Live Up to the Hype. Cause, honey? You have become an absolute stereotype.
The other day I spent twenty minutes trying to figure out how to get you to leave the house so we could go do some much needed errands. You wouldn't put your shoes on. You flailed about like a jellyfish whenever I tried to force them on you, cried and ran away when I raised my voice, laughed during time-out, and happily continued playing in your potty (that's right I said "in" your potty) when I tried ignoring you. At one point, you even took your pants off in further protest over leaving the house. If it hadn't been so cold out, I probably would have just carried you out to the car by your ankles whether you had pants on our not.
Eventually I had to act the fool to get you to cooperate.
"Madeline? Madeline? Is this how I wear my shoes?" I asked as I attempted to put your baby-sized sneakers on my grownup feet. You giggled and showed me the right way on your own feet. Then I had to feign stupidity again to get your to put on your jacket. I think I even pretended to walk into a wall. Simply put, my darling, you've turned your mother into a jackass.
Yet, when we got to the store, you were an angel. At the register, you set your sights on the candy bars and proceeded to take each kind off the shelves, one at a time, to ask me what they were.
I quickly scolded, "No-no, Madeline. Those aren't for you," before turning my attention back to the cashier.
Before I knew what was what, you simply put the Snickers back, repeated, "That not for Madeline," and held my hand.
A lady standing next to us was very impressed. "What a good girl!" she exclaimed. "So well-behaved."
"Yes, she is!" I beamed back. She didn't have to know the truth.
Of course, you're not all bad. You still have your moments of pure sweetness. You tell us you love us all the time. You constantly want to cuddle and play with us. This afternoon you sat on my lap after school and said, "I missed you, Mumma." Heart. Melt.
Sometimes I think it must be very hard being two. You want to be so independent, and yet, you have very little control over your own life. I'm trying hard to balance understanding with discipline. I want to acknowledge that you're feeling sad or frustrated, but I also want you to do the right thing. It's a real juggling act.
Meanwhile, we had your two-year physical a few weeks ago, and you were a chap through the whole thing. You cried and screamed when the nurse tried to weigh and measure you, but you didn't make a peep when they pricked your finger for the blood test. You watched the blood dripping from your finger with devout fascination from the safety of your father's lap. You were a good girl for the doctor, and opened your mouth wide just like we practiced. You cried after your shot, but shots sometimes make me cry too. It wasn't so bad. In fact, you keep telling me that you want to go back to the doctor. Ummm, what?
The doctor was impressed by how vocal you are. You string whole sentences together pretty well these days. We can carry on full, albeit simple, conversations with you now. When the doctor asked you if you needed help opening your book, you simply replied, "No, I got it." Yes, you're two going on thirteen, Maddie Bear.
I'm looking forward to Halloween with you this year. You're starting to pay attention to seasonal changes and holidays. I don't think you fully get what's going on yet, but at least you know something unusual is happening. Plus, you're going to look ridiculously adorable in your costume. If I can convince you to wear it, that is...
I love you, my little hell raiser. You keep life fresh and interesting.
Love Always,
Mumma
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