Thursday, September 5, 2013

The orange bird

I have 3 kids, and my 2-year old daughter is at the height (or what I pray is the height) of the terrible twos. She is irrational, emotional, defiant, and melts down over the most inane reasons. Over the course of today, there have been more tantrums than I can count, but here are a few highlights that culminate with the story of the orange bird.

Meltdown #1 this morning: Over her request to have a drink on the couch in a cup with no lid. Denied. This has never been allowed so I am not sure why she thought there was a chance. She is 2 years old.

Meltdown #2 later in the morning: One of the candles on her play cake is missing. No one knows where it is. This is the end of the world.

Meltdown #3 this afternoon: We are out of yellow popsicles. Also, the end of the world.

Meltdown #4 this evening: Mommy gave her the wrong Hello Kitty cup with dinner. Not the light pink Hello Kitty cup! The dark pink one!! Catastrophe!

Well you can imagine that bedtime could NOT come soon enough. The hubs had to work late so after this A+ day of parenting, Mommy was on her own at bedtime. Oldest kid: easy. 4 years old, totally gets that Mommy is on the brink of losing it, cooperates and pretty much puts himself to bed. Youngest kid is a 21 lb. 6-month old. Despite his size, he too is an easy kid these days -- especially compared to M.C. ("Middle Child" -- don't judge me). But by bedtime, the baby is tired and hungry.

Mommy desperately wants this day of horribleness to end and in order to do that, Miss Irrational needs me to meet her list of demands. They are as follows:
-Read story. One more. Just one more Mommy. NOOOO! One more!
-Water. More water. Just one more sip of water. MORE WATER!
-White bear. Not THAT white bear. The white bear with the pink ribbon!

Just when I think we are done, she then asks for orange bird. Orange bird is a 2-inch tall plastic bird. He is completely random and I have no idea where he came from. By this point in the night, my 6-month old is VERY tired and hungry and is clawing at my shirt trying desperately to find a nipple. I attempt to say, "No. You already have several friends in your bed. You can see orange bird in the morning." (Not only am I tired of giving in to her ridiculous demands, but also, I have NO IDEA where the frick orange bird is.) Obviously, this is received well.

Carrying my ginormous tired and hungry baby downstairs, I begin the search for orange bird. After scouring the disaster that is my playroom, I miraculously find it. (In a pot, in her play kitchen. Obviously.) Okay! This is it! I go all the way back upstairs, carting hulk-baby on my hip, and enter her room.

"Look who I found!" I put orange bird next to her in the bed.
"No, I don't want it in my bed. Orange bird needs to sleep over there. On the shelf."

(In my head): "Are you f-ing kidding me?" And good night.

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