The Battle of Wills

I am an easy-going person. I have my moments, but thanks to a little orange pill named “Zoloft” they are few and far between. I like to go with the flow. I have a decent amount of chill, a healthy dose of “meh” (see my post here), and parent with a “what did you learn” attitude (within reason, of course. I mean…I’m probably not going to let my child sky dive off the dining room table. Probably).

Everything I just used to describe myself, my toddler is not.

Lily has no chill. Lily has no calm. Lily is a demanding dictator packaged in this tiiiiiiny little body that can deliver a mean roundhouse kick. She is fire personified, and will destroy anything in her path. And she is just 18 months old.

I am the parent, I remind myself every morning when I wake up. She must listen to me because I am older and wiser and have the fine motor skills to use a knife and open a jug of milk. She smiles at me from her crib when I go in to get her, giving a soft giggle that lures me into a false sense of calm. I pick her up and she stretches her arm out, wanting to stick her finger in the cage of the nearby fan. “Uh oh no,” I say. “Fingers belong on our hands, not in fan blades”. A simple request. A request fueled by love, general safety and a desire to avoid a lengthy ER visit.

Well…gone is the sweet child of yester-ten-seconds-ago, and in her place is a thrashing, screaming, ANGRY ball of rage. All because I wouldn’t let her cut her finger off.

So begins the rest of our day. I say no to climbing up on the dining table? Scream, spit, flail. No to throwing my phone down the stairs? Rage, scratch, kick. Sometimes I even get the most intense side-eye glare before she cackles and goes into fast forward. (On a side note, where did she learn that perfect glare from? Is this like how baby animals instinctively know to get up and walk after birth? Was she born with the ingrained ability to give me SASS?? I digress…). But what gets her really going…like, destroy worlds with her wrath and ferocity…is when it’s time to get into the carseat, which is inconvenient on days her brother needs 4 different pick ups and drop offs. If any of my neighbours are reading this, I apologize for any shattered windows or busted eardrums you may have experienced from her ultrasonic waves of fury. One day we may learn to harness these powers for good, but for now I will probably just be handing out a stylish set of earplugs.

Is this a standard toddler thing? Or is this a foreshadowing of what my next 17 years will look like? My older son, Jason, was a chill little dude. My mother informs me that I was a sweet child; eager to listen and obey directions. So where did this attitude come from? **cough cough the husband cough cough**.

I spend my days engaged in a constant power struggle, and there are not enough hallucinogens in the world that would make me feel as though I was winning. So, helpful internet hive, do you have any tips or tricks to turn my daughter into a lovely and compliant dream child? Or do I just grit my teeth, repeat my “you will be victorious” mantra and hope the universe throws me a bone?

And in case you were wondering, she does have her sweet moments. Mostly while asleep…