WOAH NELLY. I mean Hannah.


This kid has really come into her own little 2 year old self. The tantrums, the rolling of the eyes, the clicking of the tongue and the wagging of her index finger have kicked in full force. She does that bendy-body-fall-on-the-floor-in-a-heap thing that would put any Asian gymnast to shame, as she contorts her body as if the victim of an exorcism. It would be quite amusing, if we weren’t stunned into silence by the craziness of it all. Liam used to throw tantrums, in fact he still does. But I’ve never quite seen the Dead Cockroach Dance quite the way Hannah does it.

And oh the tears. I used to feel so sorry for my little baby when she would cry. She has this heart breaking little bleat that just makes me want to tuck her back into her placenta and back into my tummy where she was safe and happy. BUT NOW. This kid is going to be famous. For being an opera singer. Boy, she can yell. And she is unrelenting and inexorable: MERCILESS. She will go on and on until she is good and ready. No amount of cajoling or threat of punishment or disregard (if we ignore her) works. She will cry until she has had enough of the sound of her own voice and then just stop and carry on like nothing has happened.

I can’t remember exactly, but I do believe that Liam was easily placated. He would throw a tantrum, I would fix the problem: tantrum over. OR we would ignore him and he’d get bored of tantrum-ing on his own without an audience. But Hannah? No way jose, she is quite happy to wail on for hours. I’m all for releasing pent up frustration or anger or whatever has gotten your goat, go on and have a good scream if you must, but for the love of my ears’ hearing, please do it when you’re alone out in the woods or when you’re submersed under water. Not on my kitchen floor when you don’t like my dinner choice, not in the bathroom when I place you in the tub instead of letting you get in yourself, not in your car seat because you don’t want to be strapped in and most definitely not in the mall because you want shot gun in the trolley. Night before last, I got home and she had clearly missed a nap somewhere along the line; she was like a bat out of hot hell. I couldn’t even look at her and she would throw me daggers and burst into tears. I mean if she’s like this at two, what am I in for when she’s 13 years old?!

When she isn’t trying out for a part in The Marriage of Figaro or some other famous opera, she IS a loving, tender beautiful child. Which is why this pendulum swing gets us all into a dizzy tizz. Even Liam blocks his ears and hums loudly over the operatic performance, I usually ignore her until I can’t take it any longer and have to leave the room and her daddy, who thinks even her cries are angelic, tries (most times in vain) to make his baby SHUT UP. Ha!

I’ve lived through the Terrible Twos, so I know this won’t cause me a slow painful whiny death, even though it feels like it at the time. But boy, I can’t wait for this phase to be over!

Hannah Pushkin Pudding Baby, you give your mother grey hairs, you do.

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