Oh, dear. We seem to be in the thick of the "terrible twos," not that I care for that term. You are certainly not terrible. But we are navigating some difficult terrain, punctuated by daily screaming fits. We can usually get through most of the day, but right around dinner time, logic and reason fail, communication ceases, and you totally fall apart. And then I have to tell you to breathe, to calm down, and tell me what's wrong. Sometimes this works, and sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes trying to put what's wrong into words causes you to melt down all over again. These mini-Chernobyls are accompanied by the waving of hands and near-hyperventilation, and it might be comical if it weren't so appalling.
But it's not all high drama. Mostly you play and laugh and read and draw and play some more. A couple of weeks ago, we went to Idaho to visit our extended family. You saw your Great Grandma Ruth, and met some Great Aunts you had never seen before, and after your shyness wore off, you gorged on deviled eggs and baked beans. You swam in the hotel pool and you got to sleep in a big bed with your mom and dad. I'm pretty sure you think that the hotel was "Idaho."
You have an uncanny ability to make me laugh. When you play, you use different voices for your dolls and stuffed animals, to jazz up their conversations. One night, while we were trying to get you to go to sleep in "Idaho," I caught you sticking your finger up your nose. I told you not to pick your nose. Then, you took your dolly's fingers and stuck them in your nose. And I said, "No, dolly, don't pick Penny's nose." So then you made your dolly pick her own nose, saying, in your cute little dolly voice, "Oh! I got boogers!"
And I'm not one to condone booger humor, but this made me laugh until I cried, and you were exceedingly delighted.
Also, you have perfected the evil eye. See?
Meanwhile, your potty chair is collecting dust, because you shun it. So I will continue to (try to) be patient, until you are ready to use it. Because if there's one thing I've learned these past 27 months, is that you will do things when you are good and ready. I'm sorry I get frustrated sometimes; it feels good to say that. We're in this together. You will always be my baby.
Love,
Mom
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