If you've ever been secretly smug (me!) or breathed a sigh of relief (so me!) when you've seen a toddler throw a demonically possessed tantrum in the middle of the grocery store aisle then I'm going to wager a guess that you've only got a couple of kids. Not that my first two were angels recently graduated from Emily Post's school for Well Behaved Toddlers or anything but along came my third child, or as I'm lovingly calling her - the little cliche' that has bitten me square on the ass cheeks.
I can remember only one time in the history of parenting my older two kids that one of them sprawled themselves on the ground screaming. Mind you, it was a doozy at around 5am at the Philadelphia International Airport, but I think we can all say that sometimes having to deal with TSA can make a grown adult do such things.
But Margot has absolutely perfected the stopping, dropping, and rolling, kicking and screaming on the dirty ass floor which is pretty advanced when it comes to fire prevention but not so great when you're just trying to find a bra with two different sized cups at Victoria's Secret. I can't even figure out exactly what sets her off - days that start with "T" or "S"? The zit on my chin that I can't stop picking? BP?
But something will set her off and she'll go from insanely sweet and adorable to "I'm going to cut you with my handmade toothbrush shank" in three seconds flat, and there is no consoling or bartering or even completely paying her off with sugary substances.
It's Three Mile Island - and I'm cleaning that shit up with a Swiffer.
And now she's decided she hates pants. Or shorts. Or bloomers. Or now even dresses.
Sometimes. I think. Maybe.
Which, if you're following all this, is basically all clothing except shirts, which she will happily wear and does so in our house but alas does not look that great in public places, except while playing in a yard with wheel-less cars up on bricks and washers and dryers on the porch.
No offense to those of you with washers and dryers on your porch. Well, working ones anyway.
We figured out that she kept waking up at night because her legs were getting cold, so now we have to sneak them on her in the middle of the night.
They're pajama pants. Last time I checked, they never hurt anyone. In fact, they're actually kind of cool in that THEY KEEP YOUR LEGS WARM AT NIGHT LITTLE GIRL.
Yesterday afternoon she picked a onesie out to wear to dinner, but then fought us while we tried to put that on her. You'd think that we were chasing her through the house with a gigantic cleaver in our hands and yet it's a dress she just happily wore the day before.
And all those times I remember hearing these "urban myths" of toddlers who don't like to wear clothes and would sooner spend the day completely naked.
Little did I know that they were all third children. Cute and charming as hell, and apparently sent to us to ensure that we get the full parenting experience we so willingly signed up for.