I can’t get enough of her. She just amazes me. She is only 4 years old and she is already so many things I always wanted to be. Bold, witty, aggressive, funny, endearing, tenderhearted and nurturing. Of course she is also bossy, mean, obstinate, hard headed, obsessive compulsive, insatiably hungry, wildly mischievous and terribly rebellious. And I love her so absolutely passionately that I cannot imagine life without having to clean up her magic marker masterpieces from the walls or reminding her for the 26,347th time that ladies don’t sit like that when they are wearing dresses.
One day not too many months ago we were picking out some new black patent leather dress shoes to match a new dress. She tried on the shoes, pointed her toes, did a test twirl and they were as good as hers. Then a sales lady came by and asked if she would like a sticker and proceeded to hand her a Cars sticker. A CARS STICKER. My daughter, instead of being thankful for what she was given began throwing a royal fit because it wasn’t Hannah Montana. So as I dragged my crying, screaming, tantrum-throwing daughter from the store after spending nearly $20 on a new pair of shoes, I looked up into the heavens (really, I did) and asked God, Why? Why did you give this child to me?
When I was an opinionated single young woman (before I became an overwhelmed white-hair-growing mother) I looked on in judgment at the feeble minded parents who had children like my daughter. I snidely glowered sideways at them as they dealt with them in the checkout at the grocery store, their child throwing a fit over candy or a toy they wanted while they desperately tried to calm them down. I would shake my head at their wimpy attempts of reigning in their little monster and self-righteously think to myself ‘What that spoiled brat needs is a good spanking!’ or ‘That woman needs to learn how to discipline that child!’
And of course it doesn’t help that my first child was so luxuriously low maintenance. Kellan has always been the sweetest, quietest, happy-go-lucky mellow fellow. When he was about 1 year old, we were run off the highway by another vehicle veering into our lane which spun us around two and a half times into the median acquiring a healthy souvenir of grass and dirt along the ride. And the entire time, Kellan was a happy camper just chugging away at his bottle of juice in the fashion of Maggie from the Simpsons like nothing had even happened. Even today, he can quietly amuse himself for hours, ah sweet peace!
Enter Emelia Rose into the world and from her first cry, I am not kidding you, my husband and I looked at each other in fear and slight horror. We knew she was different, even alien if you will from her sweet mild mannered big brother. From her daredevil attempts of jumping out of my arms, the stroller and the shopping cart during her infancy to pushing, scratching, hitting & biting her brother as soon as she could slither across the floor, to picking the perfect moments to show her bull-headed stubborn streak and sassy mouth in such places as the library or the sweet poignant quiet moment in a child’s play where she chose to pass noxious gas, loudly; we have been amazed, astounded and yes even amused at times by our tornado on feet.
There are days she is so emotional, we have to send her to her room to have a good cry. After 10 minutes of raining tears and earth shaking bellows I have checked on her only to be told between her heart breaking body racking sobs, ‘I’M …gasp… NOT …snort-sniff… DONE …sob… YET!’ and 45 minutes later she prancingly exits her room, sunshine on her face, eyes twinkling and in sing song voice announces with wonder ‘Mommy, I’m not crying anymore!’.
She is the most unpredictable child I have ever met. One of my favorite stories about her is when we were driving to the store and my husband was discussing his exasperation with her on what had been an especially trying day. He told me in deep frustration ‘Honey, I even spanked the daylights out of her, and she STILL wouldn’t listen!’ And just as soon as he finished the sentence, Emmi’s raspy lisping voice piped up from the back seat as she reprimandingly shouted ‘No you didn’t Daddy! I thtill got the daylighth in me!’ And of course, we laughed, and laughed and laughed.
We have had to be creative in our measures of discipline with her, finding out what works, and what very obviously doesn’t work. And yes, I have noticed the snooty single women watching me at the grocery checkout as my daughter has a perfectly orchestrated meltdown that showcases me as having poor parenting skills (in their opinion). But I know better now. Just like any storm, the dramatic display of my strong-willed child will pass and I’ve learned to pick my battles, well… most of the time.
I really wouldn’t trade my fireball daughter for anything because like I said, I marvel at this child. She is only 4 years old and she is already so many things I always wanted to be. Bold, witty, aggressive, funny, endearing, tenderhearted and nurturing. And I love her so absolutely passionately that I cannot imagine life without her. I can’t get enough of her. She just amazes me.
1 comment:
Sharon, I have one of *those* kids too! His name is Mason. He came into the world cursing and spitting (only joking) with a hideous temper even as a baby!! I can so relate to those actions in the store and I have been long searching for the ahem, *correct* discipline for him. We're slowly getting there and he is now 8 years old!! Big hugs to ya girl!
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