Gettin' Close

I am sick of pregnancy brain. I had an entire hilarious post written in my head that I thought up in the shower, and POOF! It's gone. I have no idea what I was going to blog about. Most likely something hilarious, and making fun of my toddler no doubt, but do I remember what it was? No.

This post will, therefore, not be hilarious. Sorry.

We have 8 weeks to go. Aryn was 10 days early, so you can round that up to 3 weeks. Minus weekends, because Ryan does all the work on weekends so I can relax on the couch and sleep. And minus the beautiful, sunny, warm days because, who can complain about being pregnant when it's finally not snowing?! So REALLY, I have, like, 1 week to go. Yay!

I was originally going to post about the insanity of my 2.5-year old. How she's talking back, waking up at ungodly hours (5:23am, anyone?), screaming at me, yelling at me to "No talk, mommy!", and how bath time and bed time (and naps) have become an absolute fight.

Then, today, she woke up at 7am. She has been kind, and sweet, and holding my hand, and listening, and going for her nap easily, and going to bed easily, and if she does something wrong and I correct her, she comes and gives me the biggest, saddest hug and says "sowwy, mommy."

I am starting to wonder if she has multiple personalities.

Can I choose which personality to continue with? Because I choose this one!

I am fearful that anything can startle her back into her "old mean ways." Does that mean I'm scared of my toddler?

Hell, yes.

I tiptoe around her. She's happy - keep doing what you're doing. DO NOT STOP. If you stop, and she gets mad, be prepared for the Evil Eye from mama bear. Because you will receive it. I will be angry. I prefer my happy, smiling little girl over the Devil With Red Hair psycho child.

Example from Easter Sunday:

Me: "Aryn, let's go upstairs and bath!"
Aryn: "No bath, mommy."
Me: "Aryn, it's been a couple of days. We need to have a bath tonight otherwise you'll be stinky!"
Aryn: (screaming) "NO BATH MOMMY! NO BATH! NO TALK! DON'T TALK TO ME!"
Me: "Aryn, I will count to 3 and you'd better be on the stairs. 1... 2..."
Aryn: (just before the #3, comes up to the stairs, touches them, falls on the floor in a full out freak out with tears and kicking)
Me: (run upstairs and hide in bed, hoping she magically gets clean by herself)

Mind you, she was fed 14 pounds of chocolate from her uncles who thought it was hilarious how much chocolate this kid could shove in her mouth at one time. So she may have been on a bit of a sugar high and a tummy ache from so much chocolate and not a single bite of supper.

"Once a year!" everyone says. Yet it's not once a year. It's every week, since we now have gallons of chocolate Easter eggs hiding in our pantry, which, if not eaten by Aryn, has to be eaten by someone and that someone is most likely going to be me.

And her. She will scarf it down if I accidentally leave the pantry door open even a crack. She's smart. She's clever. She pushes her step stool up to whatever she wants and grabs it, then hides and eats it all. Then comes to me and asks me to wash her filthy hands.

Mind you, I am usually laying on the couch ignoring her when she does this so... it's 100% Ryan's fault. He should be home. All day. Watching her. While I sleep.

She is currently yelling at me to bring her her Woody doll that she left downstairs. I'm getting screamed at, "Mommy! My Woody! Bring him! Up! NOW!"

Me: "Aryn, I will bring Woody right up."

Aryn: "NOW MOMMY! MY WOODY!"

I am scared. Whoever pissed her off..... you suck.