Sophia has not been sleeping well this week, which - you know what? Let's just call this NORMAL, shall we? And then on alternate weeks or one week out of the month or most of the month or WHATEVER, if she decides that she will sleep we can exclaim OH LOOK THE PRESHUS LITTLE THING IS SLEEPING LIKE AN ANGEL! And then rather than the emotional cycle being exhausted joy/complascence/surprised exhaustion/exhausted exhaustion/exhausted joy we can opt for the exhausted grim acceptance/exhausted surprised joy model.
Where was I?
Ah yes, so the dear child is sleeping normally, which is to say not sleeping very much at all. And she has shockingly low sleep needs, but not even super girl can survive on six hours a night without repercussions. Srsly. She gets a little...shalll we say...emotional.
You know. For a two-year-old. Girl.
For MY two-year-old girl. Ahem.
This morning, after a late night of fierce crib-bound protests, followed by a shockingly early return to the protest, I found myself stumbling into the bathroom with her padding along behind me. I swear, I don't think I'd know how to conduct business without her anymore. She's just simply always there, commenting on the proceedings, handing me giant wads of toilet paper, and shrieking for the honor of flushing.
As I stood up, she rushed over to peer in the bowl. Look, you get used to it, okay?
"MOMMY!" her tone was one of deep affront, "YOU POOP!"
"No, I didn't. I just peed."
"YOU GO POOP NOW."
"I don't have to poop. I'm...sorry?"
"POOP POOP POOP!"
And you know I would have loved to ease her considerable disappointment, especially as her screams reverberated throughout the house, where her three brothers were still sleeping, but I just didn't...why am I explaining this to you?
Anyhow, she finally believed me when I told her NO, there would be no poop at this particular potty party. She draped herself backwards over the edge of the tub, raising her face to the heavens to wail. Then she slowly slid to the floor, where she stiffened every muscle in her body, bringing her hands to her chin in quivering little fists. And she screamed.
I watched her with quite a bit of sympathy for someone who occasionallyfanasizes about inventing "Mommy's Little Sleepy-Time Blowdarts." The truth is, it's really hard to be two. Life takes a lot of adjusting to.
And sometimes? Poop happens.
Or not, as the case may be.