During a well child appointment with the pediatrician, parents will say they just want to know their kid is healthy and doing well, but we all know what we really want. We want to know our kid is great. We want a licensed medical professional who sees hundreds of children to tell us our kid is the cutest or the smartest or the tallest or has the best curly hair or is the most advanced child they have ever seen. When a complement is received (or perhaps perceived) some parents will brag to the nearest passerby with a child or without, while others will hold onto their prize and walk around the park smiling smugly at all the other less than exceptional children knowing theirs is truly great. Parents can’t help it. We know deep down our kid is the best and wish the rest of the world would just admit it and move on.
So when I took Miss Rosie to her 18 month checkup, I was more than stoked when our new pediatrician announced my daughter was advanced. She summed up the exam by saying my Rosie was doing things children her age just don’t do. Ha. Take that all you other mothers. I am doing something right after all. I assumed like a fool that her comment had something to do with my daughter’s efforts to repeat much of what the doctor was saying. Or perhaps the pediatrician noticed Rosie’s attempt to dress herself, something she has never ever tried at home and may never attempt again. Whatever caught her attention wasn’t my concern. My daughter is gifted and is on her way to something great.
Less than twenty four hours later, I have decided perhaps my joy was misguided. It seems my daughter has advanced from laid back easy going adorable toddler straight to hormonal not even I know why I am pissed off pre-teen disaster.
When I signed The Kraken up for preschool, I envisioned joyous one on one time with The Siren consisting of collecting flowers in the meadow, having tea parties on the veranda, baking cakes with layers of love, mani/pedis in the garden . . . you know, girl stuff. What I got instead were tantrums. A tantrum getting into her carseat after seeing her brother off to school, a tantrum getting out of the carseat at the mall, a tantrum when we approached the playpark, a tantrum when I gave up and left the playpark, a tantrum getting a treat (I’m going to have a nice time with my daughter whether I have to bribe with doughnuts or not) and a tantrum when the treat was gone. Day one went well.
I just can’t wait for the day when our cycles line up and we can terrorize my boys at the same time. I’m sure they are waiting in anticipation for that one too. The way Rosie is advancing, that day will be upon us in the next week or so. Should I warn the boys or just enjoy the view from this side of PMS?
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