Today and for the last several days, I've been challenged beyond my limitations in parenting my toddler.
Claire is 18-months of feisty, "I do it my own way," sass that breaks the heart of every person she sees because she is both adorable and complete hell on wheels.
I will be the first to admit that there are bigger (much bigger) problems in the world. But right now, this 26 pound, blonde haired, blue eyed daughter of mine has me dreaming about liquor cabinets on a regular basis.
Most everywhere we go, she shrieks, occasionally bites and frequently pinches those she doesn't see eye to eye with. We've been kicked out of the nursery at church, paged to come back to the nursery at the gym, given the stink eye countless times at the grocery store and endured sad stares in the park.
To say she's a handful is an understatement. She is by far and away the most independent, fearless, determined little person that I've ever met which is probably why God gave her to us as the last of the brood.
So what do I do to maintain my sanity? The trick seems to be to exercise daily, indulge in some form of chocolate, commiserate with like minded mommies, and wait for the magical day when she starts speaking in paragraphs (which is what my pediatrician assures me happens with the littliest siblings).
Until then, if you happen to see me with my brood and my patience looks worn, the bags under my eyes look thick, tell me that I'm beautiful and that my children are dolls...I'll give you $50. Lying is sometimes a good thing.