The saying goes, "Choose your battles." Whoever first uttered these great words of wisdom must have had a lot of parenting experience. I try to follow this advice, for if I didn't, there would be hands thrown up in exasperation every half-hour of the day. BUT there are days. Oh, there are days...when the sprouting wings are in a completely out-of-control, fluttering frenzy, and my willful little three-year-old has made this impossible. You see, it is
she who chooses the battles. And she CHOOSES to battle me at every turn. At the end of the day, it is me who is mentally curling up my fists, digging my heels into the ground, and shouting, "I WANT MY WAY!"
Now thankfully, this is not the case every day, because if it were, surely my sweet little Phoebe would be orphaned by now. Most days we are just dandy, and I am smitten with her and this glorious role that I play as her BFF. I think this whole no-napping business is getting to me. This is day number five and I am pretty sure that she is done with naps, with the exception of long car rides and days of sheer physical exhaustion. Oh nap, oh nap, oh sweet toddler nap. Where art thou??
Then there is the current issue of night-waking. We have spurts of these from time to time. We are sympathetic to this. We understand that she may feel lonely or scared. It is totally age-appropriate. We choose various solutions. Lately she has ended up on the futon downstairs with her daddy. Not a terrible thing for me, I suppose. Hey, he has the gift. The sleep-anywhere-anytime, sleep-like-a-hibernating-bear (snoring included), kind of gift. And he knows that I do NOT function without some good sleep.
Sometimes she may end up in bed with us and it is cozy. We are all snuggly, buggly. More often though, we are kind of like two sardines on either side of the can, with a third one sprawled out in the middle, tossing back and forth and doing the hokey-pokey in her sleep. And if she isn't movin' and shakin', there is the incessant sucking on her fingers. And the molestation of mommy or daddy...usually mommy. She is such a lover. It's sweet, but move over kid and stop trying to love on booey! We don't have a Cal King. We don't even have a King. It just doesn't work.
Then there is the makeshift bed on the floor, which seems to work for so many families. She complies occasionally, but when I told her recently that this would be her only option, she sighed and said, "But I want booey." Ah, who can blame her? Who doesn't love to snuggle up next to (and fondle) a warm breast?
Kids are funny. They're obnoxious and bratty and grumpy. They're bossy and demanding and self-centered...And fun and wonderful and silly and delightful and awesome. I'm so glad we have one!
Recently I got Phoebe a copy of the classic little book, Little Miss Chatterbox. I thought it was the perfect choice for a girl who chants, "I like to talk, I like to talk, I like to talk..." I get about a thousand questions thrown at me a day. Okay, maybe it is closer to a hundred. Half of those are followed up with a "why?". Sometimes I feel the need to check my ears for melted brain matter leakage. Here is an adorable little inquiry by little Miss in the car today.
