Sam at 2 Years, 5 Months

This month I feel a bit like we are back to the early days of Sam and Alan when she tried to kill him daily and I felt like my every minute was spent telling her no and trying to keep him safe from certain death. Perhaps it is because he is suddenly crawling all over the house (getting faster every hour) and taking her toys, but whatever the reason, we are having a very hard time with her right now.

I think she needs some Mommy alone time, to be honest. She seems to be struggling a bit with being a big girl. She is about 95% potty trained, but still has enough accidents that I would rather her be in a diaper on most outings. Sam is not a big fan of this idea.

I can't understand people who complain about "two kids in diapers" because honestly, it was easier when we had two kids in diapers. One in diapers and one who can't completely hold it all in when she has to go is much, much worse.

She has memorized all of her favorite books and can "read" them--a great parlor trick that impresses most people (even though it is just rote memorization). She has also started sight reading a bit, too. She can spell and then sound out basic words on the page when she does not know them. She is not always right, but it is damn impressive nonetheless. She gets the concept of reading down and actually can sound out some words. Blowing my mind, this one is.

On the other hand, my little (nearly) potty trained reader is still not off the bottle. It is my dirty little secret. Much like little Suri Cruise, Sam still takes two bottles of milk a day. The thing is, she is perfectly capable of drinking from a cup or a sippy cup and takes all other forms of liquid that way, but somehow milk and bottle became permanently linked in her mind and provide such an enormous amount of comfort, that I feel too guilty to completely take it away. This month we tried to cold turkey her and the result was a lot of acting out and murder attempts aimed at Alan.


Perhaps even more distressing than her addiction to the sauce is Sam's behavior. She is so much like me, it actually frightens a bit. In fact, I am learning much about my own parents and my own thought process through watching her. This shite is genetic, yo.

Sam hits, she screams, she punches, she gets frustrated beyond all reason. She is 20 times as intense as any kids I know her age. All moms say this, but they have not seen my daughter. Believe me, I am not bragging when I say that my kid could blow any other kid out of the water with her "intensity." There is no negotiation. There is no distraction. When she gets her mind set on something, she remembers for hours, days, months. She is a trying, trying child. I take comfort in the idea that these qualities will serve her well someday. As someone who is no stranger to being strong-willed, I know it is a good thing for a girl to be. When she is older.

Since Sam is just like me, I can see we have a lot to figure out. Let's just say I have never been a well-behaved little lady. Now, yes, "well-behaved women seldom make history" according to the ubiquitous bumper sticker (and, I believe Mae West), but they also rarely leave their parents with any hair (or, in my case any hair that is not gray). I happen to like my hair brown and get a little sick of visiting my stylist every three weeks. Something has to be done. We have to get her in line without crushing her dynamic soul. A tall order, indeed.

Maybe it is better to just put up with the stuff my parents did--constant cursing, shoplifting, no rules EVER, no curfew, etc--than crush her spirit. I have an enormous amount of confidence because of the autonomy I was given at a young age. Until very recently, I thought it was because my parents were hippies and wanted free-range kids. But now I think they just saw very early that I was independent and firey and most things were not worth the thrashing, foaming at the mouth insanity that would ensue should they try to enforce any rules. I feel like all I do is say no, punish her and scream. It needs to stop.

On the other hand... having a rabid beast for a daughter (not far from the truth) is both embarrassing and impractical. What is a hippy, "don't tame the wild soul" leaning mama to do? Stay tuned, people.

Here is the rabid beast in all her untamed glory: