Febuary 13, 2007

My precious little cupcake is now a mean batch of crabcakes. She has been in the most horrible mood. Slapping, yelling and throwing herself in the floor. If she knew the sign language for the mood she is showing I am sure her little chubby middle finger would have been extended with her other hand firmly on her hip, legs braced for the oncoming war she is plotting. She is all girl that is for sure. She will sign “Hold” and then scream to be put down. She will sign “cup” and then throw it at whatever parental unit is closest. Mixed signals and PMS (premeditated moody syndrome) from the minute she woke up until now. The terrible twos apparently doesn’t signfy their chronological age, it signifies the time that they stand on their own two feet.
We are now practicing “let’s see what kind of ruckus I can throw until Momma pays attention to me.” I have locked her in the office with me, she has her toys, blankie and sippie. She is throwing herself to the ground like a bad actor in the Civil War re-enactment. The minute she calms down I try to praise her, love her up and Hurricane Annie fires up for another happy home-leveling session. Redirection with a toy is not working as it seems to only give her more ammo to throw.
I think the Tylenol will kick in any moment and the crib will be a safe place to calm down…
I will crawl out when she is done.



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