Two Really Is Terrible

I have a confession to make: I find my 28.5-month-old daughter, E, trying. VERY trying. As in, I better understand why my stay-at-home grandmother became an alcoholic during her children's toddler years.

Today was a particularly bad day. E and M were both home from daycare with colds and fevers.* M was a little cranky, but she was fairly content to be attached to me either in the sling or the Bjorn. E, however, made it her mission to share her misery.

Today, she simultaneously wanted my company and did not want my company. For instance, if I were holding M, nursing M, talking to M, or otherwise paying attention to M, E would say, "my turn," and attempt to push her baby sister out of the way and sit on my lap. She also pulled M's hair and pinched her. I realize that jealousy is normal when there is a new baby present, but why did she wait five and a half months to start this? Just to mix things up, when I would approach M, to wipe the snot off her face or check her temperature, she would scream, "No, Mommy, no," and burst into frantic tears. Diaper changes were much the same. Even attempts to hug her were met this way.

When she wasn't yelling at me to stay away or begging to sit in my lap, she was busy removing every article of clothing. Seriously, I think we may have a stripper on our hands. Today, when she was clothed, she wore a hideous ensemble of her choosing: hot pink leggings, a pastel pink shirt with a whale on the front, and purple crocs. As much as the outfit disturbed me, I was more disturbed that in the time it took to rinse and replace a dropped pacifier, E was able to completely disrobe. If she were potty trained, it would be one thing, but so far she hasn't demonstrated any bladder control. To me, the sight of my naked toddler declaring, "I not wear pants and diapers," while standing on my good rug is anxiety provoking.

Then there was the whining. If there is an evolutionary advantage to whining, then our genes are safe. "I don't want Dora. I want Dora. I want WonderPets. The dolphin. I need the dolphin. I'm stuck. I don't want books. I want books. You do it, Mommy. You do it. I want crackers. I want to go bye-bye. My turn. My turn. I don't want a nap. I want water. I don't want water."

There must be an equation that quantifies the difficulty of raising a toddler. Something like four infants= one toddler. Or maybe it is three infants + inlaw=one toddler. Something. I do find the baby much, much easier than E.

Still, she has her moments. For instance, we are sort of potty training and what she lacks in bladder control, she makes up for in enthusiasm. This may explain why, when I use the toilet ** she says, "Good job, Mommy!"

If only I could have that positive immediate feedback for all my endeavors.


*I was shamed on Friday because E's cold was so bad that they copied the "sick child policy" page from the parent handbook and made me sign it. In my defense, she barely had the sniffles when I dropped her off that morning. How was I to know she would spike a fever of 101 and that her nose would start running like a snot river.
**I've given up on ever again going to bathroom in private.