Bebe and the Beast
A few months ago we went through a period of a few weeks where Beatrice was a screamy, whiny mess. I can’t tell you how relieved I was to discover she was getting her molars, and when the initial discomfort passed and she returned to her usual, happy go lucky self.
I don’t think we are going to be so lucky this time.
My darling, easy going, always happy little baby has turned into a tiny toddler dictator. She can’t be more than about 10ft away from me, and I must be participating in her chosen activity AT ALL TIMES. This may mean walking around the dining room table endlessly, while holding whatever toy she has deemed essential. It may mean lying (laying?) on the kitchen floor while she pounds on my stomach and boobs (pleasant) repeatedly. Or it could mean being dragged from place to place while she apparently tries to fend shui the house using only my physical presence. All. Day. Long.
It’s getting really old.
I’ve never had a kid as resistant to entertaining themselves as this one, and the fact that there is no sibling coming along to play victim to her every whim is filling me with dread for next year when the other kids are at school all day and I’m left alone with Beatrice for 7 hours.
Because when you don’t so what she wants? She hits. And yells at you. Fortunately she doesn’t hit very hard; it’s really more of a light tap just to convey her displeasure, but still. Hitting = not good. She pushes people out of whatever seat she decides she wants from minute to minute. She hits Sophie if she dares come sit by me. She shoves Jack if he even gets near her. She smacks me when I don’t get up when she wants me to. When I asked for some of MY water, she wrapped her arms around it and shouted “mine!”
Seriously. This kid needs to find some personal interests outside of bossing everyone around real quick.
That “Queen Bee” picture in her room is looking more and more like a mistake. Or unfortunate prediction.
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