Lydia turned 2 yesterday. That wraps up the fastest 2 years of my life so far. Seriously, this time warp stuff is tripping me out.
So, yesterday she got her hands on a yellow permanent marker and tattooed her face and arms pretty successfully. We scrubbed and scrubbed and it wouldn’t come off. Eventually I decided that it does quite accurately sum up Lydia at this age, although I admit for a little while I thought about postponing the cupcake pictures until we had removed it.
But, that’s my girl… always scribbling on something. I just realized that I forgot to add “graffiti” to her list of LOVES. Consarn it!
I was able to remove most of the marker from her body this morning during her bath, so I took her outside for her 2 year old photo shoot.
Hey, Liddy, how old are you?
This child runs very hot or cold. She is either happy and charming, or a short little tyrant screaming orders and throwing things. Or occasionally head butting stuff. If she was my first child, I would worry about this little ragey-tantrum business, but that is one of the benefits of having 5 children.
I’m too tired to care anymore. Haha, just kiddin’. Truthfully, this ain’t my first rodeo. I know this is just one of those stages where you have to soak up the sweet to get you through the sour, and rest assured that in a year or two or five she will be a perfectly pleasant human child again.
–I mean, we are all crazy about her, for sure. I don’t want to give you the impression that we don’t like this girl. She is so fetchin’ cute and funny. She talks our ears off and is constantly coming up with some funny phrase that we all repeat over and over. And sweet, honestly, she is such a sweetheart at times, hugging and kissing and saying, “Sowwy!”.
But there are definitely 2 year old moments with the screaming and throwing herself down on the floor. As I was carrying her inside the house the other day while she was screaming and kicking and trying to get away (she doesn’t like coming inside, see) I remembered doing the same thing with Lizzy and how frustrated I felt. And how it would stress me out that my daughter had turned into a tiny terror and I didn’t know how to fix it.
But, now almost 12 years later, I’m like, “Meh.”. She’ll grow out of it. I wish I could go back and whisper some reassurance into my 12 years ago self. “This won’t last forever. She will grow up to be amazing. It’s okay.”