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Here’s a little sample of what life with Libbie has been like lately.
Yesterday, she dumped Italian seasoning on the floor, smeared diaper cream on her stomach, took a knife off the counter, and decided one of her dolls was named Rebecca–then Abby–then finally Tessa (after her cousin, Tricia‘s daughter).
Today, she smeared glue stick on the couch, crumpled up my coupons, learned how to stand on a chair to reach things that are higher (while I was on the phone she figured this one out), ran into the BUSY street in front of our house, found some Mylicon drops in an old diaper bag and tried to open them to give to her baby (yeah, that one is definitely a Mommy OOPS!), and … was a perfect angel for a babysitter for a few hours. Of course.
At 18 months she was well-versed in the “no” part of the terrible 2s, as well as tantrums and disobeying. But it seems we have reached the true peak of the age, probably brought on by a little baby rivalry.
My friends say 3 is worse. I am scared.
I miss being just the two of us. I hate that she wants to crawl in my lap and David is already there and I have to choose him over her because, well, he eats from my body and she doesn’t.
I don’t want to rush time, because there are things about this age that are so darn cute I can’t stand it. But my patience is worn thin with lack of sleep, crying, hormones.
Life with two is things I never dreamed it would be. For more, please check out my monthly ParentLife post – it’s one of the more truthful things I’ve written in a while.