Pet Peeves: The Run Around

Someday, after years of unresolved feelings, Madeline will download this blog post to the digital device embedded in her arm to provide her therapist with evidence  of her mother's lack of support.

"See!"  she'll cry, "My mother never understood me!  She complained about me on the Internet when I was only two!!" 

Meanwhile,  I won't even be there to defend myself because by then I'll have been cryogenically frozen before my time and tucked away in a drawer somewhere so as not to put a further strain on the economic crisis of the younger generation.  Either that, or I'll have been turned into Soylent Green. 

In order to save some money on future therapy bills, let me just preface this post by assuring you, future Maddie Bear, that I love you to the moon and back.   Nothing you could ever say, or do, could change that.  (Except maybe turning me into a food group.)   

However, even though you are a continuous ray of sunshine in an otherwise dreary world, sometimes you lead your mother to drink.  Those fun little wine corks you sometimes like to play with?  Those came from somewhere... 

Recently, my biggest pet peeve in raising a two-year-old semi-human is how long it takes to get her dressed.

What should be a simple, five-minute task of pulling simple clothing over my daughter's limbs has become an epic test of wills.

I don't think she's trying to avoid being clothed, although she does take immense joy in screeching, "I'm a naked baby!" on her way to the bathtub.   Rather, I think it's simply because she has the attention span of a gnat.

Tonight's bedtime routine is a perfect example.  As soon as we made it up the stairs, she ran into her bedroom full speed ahead and jumped on her bed.  I finally managed to coerce her over to me to change her diaper, but as soon as she got there, she suddenly changed direction toward the other wall to climb into her bucket of stuffed animals.  From there she got caught up in trying to turn her noise maker on all by herself, but of course she couldn't reach it over all the stuffed animals.  Instead, she ripped all the blankets off her bed in an attempt to get to it.   When I finally got her to lie down, she spied a book lying on the floor that she just had to read right that minute.  By the time that wrestling match was over, I was the one ready for bed.  Meanwhile, Madeline skipped over to her rocking horse and started rocking away.   

I am so sick of demanding, "Madeline are you listening?  Come here and put on your shirt!  We're not done yet."   

Do I need to strap her down?   

Sometimes I wrestle her.  Sometimes I grab her by her ankles and drag her back to me.  Sometimes I make it into a game...which sometimes works, but I'm so damn tired.  Sometimes I yell...which never works.   Sometimes I keep my cool and leave the room until she misses me and begs me to come back to dress her.

Seriously, Maddie Bear, I just. want. to. put. clothes. on. you.  We live in New England.  It's cold here.

On the other hand, in this picture she's wearing her regular clothing, a fleece jacket, a faux-fur vest, and one of my camisoles.  There is no middle ground with this girl.