The unthinkable has finally happened. I can now say, with some confidence, that Stella no longer drinks from a bottle. Ever. Period. Done. (At least not until she starts in on the family tradition of hitting the bottle. But that is a post for another day.)

At the time that we started with the potty training thing we realized that an unintended side effect was that her bottle consumption (which was limited only to nap and bedtime) had to be significantly curbed. If you are trying to set your child up for a successful night of dry sleeping you don’t send them off to bed with 8 ounces of liquid. So, we reduced consumption to 2 ounces each at naptime and bedtime, and waited for some cosmic cue to tell us when to make our next move.

One thing Stella has been acutely aware of lately is the difference between a ‘big girl’ and a ‘baby’. A lot of her I’m-going-to-be-a-big-sister books emphasize how bitchin it is to be a big girl because of all the cool things you can do, as opposed to those lumpy, useless babies. This concept has not been lost on Stella and she regularly corrects us when we dare call her a baby. (Ugh, the nerve!) We decided to capitalize on this idea with the bottle and tell her how only babies use bottles. As usual, the words sink in before the real meaning does. While staying at Dore’s the other day, she was explaining the finer points of how only babies drink out of bottles while at the same time holding out her bottle and asking, “My have more water please?”

Yesterday, however, she gave us the opening we were looking for. The standard operating procedure for naptime is: right as we walk through the door there is a bottle sitting on the counter which she grabs as she walks through to her bedroom for a nap. Yesterday, however, for the first time on record she snubbed the bottle (telling Steve that only babies drink from bottles) and asked for a cup. Oh. My. Lord. Could it be?

By last night, I had pretty much considered it a done deal, and offered her a tippy cup or nothing at all. Ironically, she went for the nothing at all. And today at naptime, after some serious conversation and a last ditch attempt of crying (on her part), she went to sleep with nothing but her and her thoughts…and three blankets…and a stuffed animal…and a copy of Runaway Bunny.

Our house may actually be diaper and bottle free for a whole month!

On Friday, when I went to pick up Stella at day care Kathy gave me the disturbing news that Stella had bitten Alex…on the chin…hard enough to draw blood. It was as though someone had just told me that my child was a sociopathic murderer. I looked at her with desparate bewilderment, and blurted out the only thing that came to mind “Why?! Why would you do that?” To which her only response was “My bite Alex!”

Apparently, not only had she bitten Alex HARD ENOUGH TO DRAW BLOOD, but had done it with absolutely no provocation or warning. As the story goes, they were poised to give each other a hug when our otherwise sweet little girl had a change of heart and took a bite out of Alex’s face. Somehow if it had at least occurred in the heat of battle it would have made more sense. Instead found myself staring down at my child wondering at which time in the future I will be unlucky enough to lean in for a kiss and come back without an earlobe.

I was unprepared to deal with the whole biting issue. Somewhere in the back of my brain I began to think that we had miraculously evaded the perils of having “a biter”. Hoping, nay, praying that this was an isolated incident, we just let it go. If we have learned anything it is that there is a delicate balance that must be found when deciding what you are going to “go there” on. Sometimes if you give something too much lip service (no pun intended) it ends up backfiring and makes the situation worse. Our short term plan was to just drop it and hope it was an isolated incident.

So you can imagine my dismay when I came home to the report on Monday that Stella had bitten Alex – again! Now we have officially graduated from a one-time incident to a behavioral problem. Taking a page from most contemporary pet obedience manuals, we have decided to focus on rewarding the positive as opposed to punishing the negative. Being that we are rarely there at the time of the assault, we have a difficult time hammering home the punishment aspect. We can, instead promise her shiny objects and fabulous prizes if she makes it through an entire day without trying to take a bite out of any of her peers.

Steve loaded up on a bunch of otherwise mundane objects at the dollar store to use as bait in our little plan. Luckily, at this point in her development, the rewards system has been working well. The concept of blackmailing us has not yet occurred to her…although I know it is only a matter of time. I know I will forever look back on this time as the one little window in our lives when we (sort of) have the upper hand.

So, today as Steve dropped her off at day care he reiterated our deal: You no bite, You get treat. And much to our delight, it worked! Alex made it through the day without any new bite imprints left on her person, Stella got a cheap Dora tumbler and we pat ourselves on the back for our sheer mastery at parenting.

Today, on our way home from day care, Stella and I were marveling at the fleeting sunshine we were being blessed with. The skies have been vomiting rain for about a month straight now and we have all about had our fill.

Stella has been particularly aware of the distinction between, as she puts it: sunnyandhot (all one word) or waaaaaiiiiin. Of particular interest to her is what she can do when it is sunnyandhot versus when we have waaaaiiin. Today, for instance, as we stepped out into the sunlight, she alerted me that it was sunnyandhot and that she can put on her bathing suit and play in the backyard. To which, I had to delicately explain that it isn’t that kind of sunnyandhot yet. And in trying to keep the conversation moving so as to not allow her too much time to realize the ultimate unfairness of it all, I proceeded to explain that we need to buy her a new bathing suit anyway because her other one is too small.

Whew.

About two stoplights later the questions begin:

“Why is my bathing suit too small?”
“Well, because you are getting bigger.”
“Why am I getting bigger?”
“Because that is just what happens. When you get older and older you also get bigger and bigger.”
“Why?”
“It’s just what happens.”
“But why, mommy?”

It is at this point that I realize I am out-matched in this conversation. I think advanced interrogation specialist trainings must be conducted by by 2-year-olds. I am picturing myself in an empty room with a bare lightbulb being shined in my face.

“Well, you get bigger and bigger all the time. One day you will be big like mommy.”
“My no want to get bigger.”

I did my best not to take this comment personally.

“None of us do, Stella.”