Kids are funny. They change overnight. Teeth, tummy aches, the wrong color socks-- anything can turn them from precocious, adorable, sweet balls of fun into raging bags of nuclear ants, just waiting for a trigger. And today, Cleo's trigger was a nap disturbed by the FedEx man and the simple word "no".
I have no words for what she did. There was screaming, and there was crying, and there were red-faced contortions that made her look like a clothed mole rat in the throes of rabies, malaria, and ebola. There was shrieking, and there were tears and snot, and lots of melodramatic back curling. And this loud NGGGGGGGGGGH! noise.
I tried so, so hard not to laugh. I tried to respect her feelings and help her sort through them, tried to teach her to say, "I'm mad," and "You make me angry and sad when you say 'no'." I even explained to her, quite reasonably, that I was very sorry that I had made her angry and sad, and that she would unfortunately have to do what I said for the next 16 years whether she liked it or not.
This approach did not go over well.
And, I admit it, I did laugh a little, mainly when she was curled up on herself like a pissed off shrinky-dink and couldn't hear me through her howls of misery.
I begin to see why they call it "the terrible twos".
And then she goes and kisses my belly and says, "Baby Shmoo in there," and I suddenly forget how frustrating, willfull, obnoxious, and annoying she can be.
I think they're programmed to do that so we don't toss them in the recycling.