Yesterday, Charlie turned two.
I saw something on Twitter recently where someone said, "Whoever coined the phrase the Terrible Twos probably felt like an idiot when their kid turned 3."
So let's look at things. I have a three and a half year old. She is smart and cute and wants to do everything BY HERSELF. I now also have a two year old. And adorable, beautiful, smart, stubborn two year old. Life is about to get very interesting up in here.
I will begin Charlie's 2 year old tribute with a little story. Last night, it was past her bedtime, so Workaholic put her to bed. (Actually, Sam rocked her and read her books, Workaholic just lifted her into the crib.) This pissed Charlie off. Like, really pissed her off. She was screaming and crying and I am pretty sure she was cussing us out in the baby babble she uses when she doesn't want to think of real words. This wasn't the typical "I am fussing because I am a little kid who hates bedtime because it is my duty as a little kid to hate bedtime" whining, it was the all out "hear it down the street if the windows are open" crying. Girl was angry.
There are few things that make Charlie that angry, and so I thought that maybe she wanted the new doll that she had gotten for her birthday the night before. It is one of those where it has a zipper and snaps and buttons and other things for little kids to amuse themselves with when they are stuck in a crib at bedtime. I set off clipping off the dozen paper tags on it that explained what each thing was (because 2 year olds can totally read) and headed upstairs to calm her down.
I did NOT hear the thump. I did, however, notice that there was no more crying,
And then her door opened. And out crept the birthday girl. Carrying her blanket and stuffed turtle-that-is-really-a-dog-toy, and her sippy cup of water. The little shit crawled out of her crib.
The best thing about Charlie, other than her big blue eyes, incredibly long eyelashes, and sparkling personality, is that she loves to sleep. And even if she isn't sleeping, she loves to hang out in her crib, playing with her toys or whatever it is she can reach. (Lately, her nightly goal has been to rip down one of the plastic blinds that hangs across the sliding glass door in her room. There are about half of them left...which doesn't really help to keep the light out when the sun comes shining in every morning.) She will routinely, on weekends, stay in her crib for 5-6 hours. Whenever she gets a little...touchy, I put her to bed, she plays and then sleeps. It is kind of awesome. I can relax, watch How I Met Your Mother on Netflix, take a nap, whatever! It is much easier to get anything done while a toddler sleeps than when said toddler is whining and crying and hanging on you, or running out the door down the street. (Yes, she does both.)
I was hoping the crib thing was a fluke. A random moment of intense anger followed by a stunt that she would never do without the blind courage that rage brings.
I was wrong.
This morning I heard the thump. I heard the short cry. And by the time I got to her room, she had her blanket and turtle and cup and looked at me with the smile and those eyes and giggled. She laughed at me. I am soo in trouble.