The mind of an almost-two-year-old works in mysterious ways. And by mysterious, I mean maddening. The kind of maddening that makes people contemplate their own mortality: Why am I here? Why is she here? Why are we here together in the same room? It is one thing for her to throw herself onto the floor in a fit of rage during the middle of the day. Not exactly desireable, but tolerable nontheless. It is something totally different to have to deal with the spitting rage and fury at 2:30 in the AM. Noooooooo! Not that water bottle, THIIIIIIIISSSSS One! AAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHH! Come on Stella, it is 2:30 in the morning, I am over half asleep and it is pitch black, can you please cut me a tiny little break here? The worst part of these scenarios is that I have a relentless need to try to reason with her. In my mind, simply calming her is somehow a triumph on her part. My hubris does not allow for such things. She must calm down AND understand why it is that what she is doing is so supremely NOT OKAY. So here I am, wrestling the equivalent of a greased pig into her bed…at 2:30 in the morning, tightly telling her that she CANNOT do this. People are sleeping, it is dark, IT IS TIME FOR SLEEP.

Some of the slightly better (daylight) conversations between us at least get her thinking about the idea of cause and effect. Not to say that we actually reach a reasonable solution, but we are at minimum laying some groundwork.

Me: “Stella, you can’t take all your clothes off right now.”
Stella: “My NEEEEED to.”
Me: “Why?”
Stella: “Becaaaaauuuuuse…….YEAH!”

Not exactly a breakthrough in greater understanding, however it is progress. Sort of. Let me dream.