or-ner-y

Before I start, can I just say that I went to Kohl's last night and discovered:

(A) The Thanksgiving apparel is already out! It was 107 degrees today! And
(B) Shouldn't every proud Virginia Tech graduate parent own this onesie?!?! I immediately sent this picture to Jessica.



Anywho, on to the ornery one. Yes, the terrible twos are upon us at not even thirteen months old. Blame it on lack of napping, teething, a new daycare, the move, what have you, but Britton has been downright ornery lately. Not this sweet cheerful little girl...



The one who plays "naptime" with her nap mat and snuggles in looking angelic...



Oh, she tries to be happy. And for the most part she is. But there's something about keeping it together while at daycare (mostly by being distracted) and then happy to be home with mom, then after dinner the little demon has to come out. She throws herself to the ground, grand gestures of how the world is so unfair, grabbing for items she throws in protest once she clutches them, frustrated beyond belief that this mean mean mean world won't let her walk or verbally communicate beyond a few choice words. Like tonight, when Grandma and I attempted to get her into the bath, and because she wasn't allowed to take the toilet paper roll with her, her entire reason for living was GONE. Even though Grandma was showing her the bubbles, the little star that squirts water, a popsicle she could eat in the tub to soothe her gums - NO. She wanted the toilet paper roll and how mean and horrid were we to deny her the toilet paper?

I don't want to coddle her, soothe every last whimper for fear of my baby shedding even one tear, but I don't want to be heartless either. I've had bad days, when slamming doors and screaming obscenities are the only thing to subside the pain, other than a full-on cry-it-out session in the shower. And my sister, in all her wisdom, reminded me of the day I came home convinced I had had the worst day EVER, and wrote a list of everything that went wrong that day. She said I made it to 14 before letting it go.

So, I get it. And if I lived in a world where my teeth hurt, the morons that take care of me all day don't understand that I need to have 100% undivided attention, I get served food I don't want and don't get the bottle I do want, and I come up to everyone's knees, and I can't walk or talk, yeah - I'd be pissed too. On a regular basis. I try to tuck my ornery self away, forget about my troubles that day, and just give her what she wants or needs. And lately, that has been a 6:00 p.m. bedtime.