I find that having a two-year-old is equally exhausting as it is enjoyable. Recently she has begun to want to do everything on her own with the determination of an Olympic athlete.
Yesterday, she wanted to put on her own shoes. I have no problem with this, I even relish the idea that doing this will probably keep her occupied for at least ten minutes. Ecstatic at the idea that I will have ten whole minutes to accomplish something, I run to the closet and whip out the vacuum.
The whir and suck of the crumbs off the floor begin to sooth me until I am brought out of my vacuum induced meditation by a piercing, "MOM, HELP!"
I turn off the vacuum and begin in Sammy's direction. She waves me off. "No, Sammy do it." OK, I turn around to continue with my vacuuming.
"MOM, HELP!" I begin in her direction again. Again, I get the wave off. I let her do this one more time, until she has officially worn out my patients.
"NO! MOMMY HELP!" I say firmly and loudly as I set her in my lap. I have no problem with her trying to do things on her own, but this is ridiculous.
My husband runs in from the garage, "Were you yelling at my princess?" He asks with a grin. Indeed I was, my glare responds.
I can hear her now, crying upstairs as I try to finish writing this. I know when she comes down she is going to demand a breakfast she can get herself and to get her Barney fix. Half of me is tempted to open the door and throw her a string cheese, like you would a wild animal. The other half knows this will not hold her for nearly long enough.
I guess I will have to succumb to her cries...
No comments:
Post a Comment