On Having a Girl

At around 1:30 am every night, I hear Lou scream in her sleep, “No Mommy. No Mommy. I not want you. I want DADDY!”

Because it’s not enough for her to hate me when she’s awake, she dreams about it too.

The last few days, she’s taken to screaming fits like the ones that used to consume most of her day (and mine) when she was just a wee little infant. It’s the same never-ending, blood-curling, inconsolable howl that drove me into post-partum depression and thoughts of driving into a highway divider. (Yes, I am serious. No, not with the kids. Of course, I got help.)

Once a tenacious foodie, she now turns her nose at anything that doesn’t come in a pouch or resemble a peanut butter sandwich. And by “turn her nose”, I mean chunk  it across the table, wiggle her way out of her booster chair to stand on top of it, and yell, “NO, MOMMY! I not want that!”

Oh! And then there’s the attitude… loads of it!

Although her second birthday isn’t until Friday, I’ve been calling it  two-year-old angst. Her teacher at daycare warned me that this was coming.

“It happens to all of the kids. They turn two and suddenly… they just change.”

“No, not my Baby Girl,” I answer in disbelief. Hugging Lou a little closer, I asked her for reassurance, “You’re not going to change, are you, Love?”

With that she flung her lunch bag at me and said, “Mommy, (deep, dramatic sigh) let go.” I guess that was my answer.

It’s moments like these that I  forget how much I wanted her; how much I ached for a second baby, not knowing if I was ever going to have one. Now, I can’t imagine life without her. She is more sass and spark than I was prepare to handle, and more “me” than I care to admit.

I know it’s not right to label your children or attribute your traits to them, but I can’t help but notice that she is every bit my carbon copy– from the shape of her derriere to her “you’re dead to me” stare when she stands corrected. So even though she’s been insane to deal with recently, I understand her completely. I can’t help but pity and love her at the same time for having inherited the best and worst of me.

If you try to show her the proper way to use a fork, she will shut down completely, chucking her plates (again) and refusing to speak to you. I had a similar tantrum when Mike refused to order the take-out dishes I requested.

“Why are you making this so difficult?! Fine, let’s just not EAT dinner!”

Perhaps choosing to freak out about money and quibble about an $8 entree at the specific moment when all I wanted was Pad Thai from Ginger Cafe was not the best move, but he and I got it sorted it quickly. My temper may run white hot, but it cools just as fast.

Let’s just hope Lou will be coming around soon too. I don’t know how many more nights I can listen to this. Because of all the things my daughter and I may have in common, impatience and difficulty accepting criticism are tied for first.

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