Either that or she's been abducted by aliens.
I used to have a lovely, biddable little girl. She was cheerful and happy and content. Now, from the moment she gets up until the moment her tangled head hits the pillow, it's war. And I'm losing.
She wakes up angry. Well, that's not strictly true. She's fine, happy as Larry, until it's time to get out of the crib. Then, forget it. She shrieks when she's taken out of the crib. She screams while she's getting changed. X All hell breaks loose if I try to comb her hair. She's having none of it, so most days, she resembles a small, blonde Medusa. Her whining when put in her high chair and given breakfast - breakfast that she requested not three seconds ago - will have you clawing at your ears.
I'm seriously thinking about renting her out to the fire department.
When nap time rolls around, she writhes and hits and screams in my ear. She throws herself on the couch when thwarted - be it by me or by her own limitations or by a dust bunny. Everything, every single thing she does, requires huge dramatics and boy, does she ever play to the back of the theatre. She's gunning for the Sarah Bernhardt award or the Best Actress In A Dramatic Role Oscar.
What makes it even more crazy-making is that she'll be pulling this over-the-top bullshit and a split second later, is climbing into my lap for kisses or sharing her toys with the Bug or being adorable in general. She'll sing Ram Sam Sam and laugh and clap and then WHAM! She's back to the all-shrieking, all-crying, all-miserable little girl.
I didn't have this with O. O was a sick toddler. She slept a lot. She snuggled a lot. She didn't feel well for months and months prior to her diabetes diagnosis shortly before her third birthday. She liked nothing better than to lie on the couch, her head in my lap, letting me tell her a story.
But the Boo? She epitomizes that nursery rhyme: When she was good, she was very, very good. But when she was bad, she was horrid.
So, listen up, you faeries or aliens. Gimme back this kid.