The kids recently finished up a two-week session of swim lessons. They quickly got used to the idea of going to the pool every day, so I've been trying to still get them there as much as possible. The problem is, the pool doesn't open until noon. Which means by the time the big kids swim for a couple of hours, the littles are way past their 1:00 nap times. Bubs handles that pretty well. But Baby Sis is kind of an F2 tornado under normal conditions; add exhaustion and she quickly upgrades to a 5.
Now two year olds don't really make a ton of sense in general (it's one of their best qualities), but irrationally tired two year olds make zero sense whatsoever.
We had the following exchange:
Me: (just about to sit down and eat lunch...at 4pm if I'm keeping track)
Baby Sis: (while changing out of her bathing suit, discovers a bottle of purple nail polish under the sink in the bathroom)
"I want to paint my nails!"
Me: (hands her play clothes, already anticipating the protest - she only willingly wears ball gowns and tutus)
Baby Sis: "Nooo, I want to wear my Belle dress!" (tears)
Me: "I can't paint your nails in your Belle dress. If you want your nails painted, you'll need to put on play clothes."
(She doesn't sit still until they dry, so I know better than to paint her nails in an outfit she really cares about.)
(She doesn't sit still until they dry, so I know better than to paint her nails in an outfit she really cares about.)
Baby Sis: (crosses arms, plops down on bathroom floor wearing neither outfit and cries)
Me: "[Sis], you may wear your dress. But if you want your nails painted, you'll need to put on play clothes. I'm going to go eat my lunch. You decide."
Baby Sis: (finally concedes and puts on play clothes)
Me: (abandons lunch and comes in to paint nails because at least she's clothed and not crying --
finishes the last of ten toenails in the color she picked)
"Okay, [Sis], there you go!" (Ta da!)
Baby Sis: (throws herself down on the bathroom floor and cries)
"I don't want to paint my nails!!!"
(tears)
~~~
Knowing there was absolutely no point in reasoning with her, I returned to my half-eaten lunch that may or may not have been licked by the cat. I'll never know.
Baby Sis hashed out her moment of rage (conveniently allowing her nails time to dry), changed into her Belle dress, and came peacefully wandering out of the bedroom several minutes later.
The day proceeded as normal. And she changed outfits several more times.
By evening, everyone was sufficiently "played out" and had dispersed to various parts of the house to do other, quieter things. Princess A was on the front porch painting. Baby Sis asked if she could go out front and paint too, so I let her. When Princess A came walking in a few minutes later, I went out to check on Baby Sis' progress.
There was evidence that she had at some point painted a picture. But now she was intently...
By evening, everyone was sufficiently "played out" and had dispersed to various parts of the house to do other, quieter things. Princess A was on the front porch painting. Baby Sis asked if she could go out front and paint too, so I let her. When Princess A came walking in a few minutes later, I went out to check on Baby Sis' progress.
There was evidence that she had at some point painted a picture. But now she was intently...
painting her nails.
In a princess dress.
But not the Belle dress.
Also, I should note that I don't typically grant her request to paint her fingernails because she still puts her fingers in her mouth sometimes, so I only paint her toes.
No matter.
Like everything else she sets her mind to, she'll just do it herself.
Naturally, she got paint not only on her nails but a number of other things as well - all over her hands, on the bench, in her hair......aaand on her princess dress.
Although paint is far easier to deal with than nail polish, so I'll take it.
(We may or may not have permanently purple tiles and baseboards in our master bathroom from a previous nail polish indiscretion. But that's another story.)
Anyway.
As I stood in the driveway watching this escapade, my heart was filled with tenderness for her.
She is so precious.
They all are.
I remember a time when these toddler years were maddening to me. Every small battle was a hill to die on. And my tiny children were clearly tiny adults set out to defy my parental authority in as many ways as possible.
But they aren't tiny adults.
Toddlers are toddlers in all of their perfect, uncultivated glory. And they're fantastic in their chaos.
What a privilege it is to get to see into another soul like clear glass.
Every minute of Baby Sis' day is run on raw emotion and strong opinions that, I might add, generally do not parallel mine. Every normal task takes twelve times longer than it should because she has to do it herself. She changes clothes - no joke - five times before lunch most days. When I'm in a hurry to leave in our vehicle, that's when she disappears into the abyss of backseats that I can't reach without not-very-gracefully traversing them like hurdles, then does the limp noodle slide out of her own car seat once I finally hoist her into it. She is real, and honest, and endearingly audacious.
And beautiful.
They all are.
I'm so thankful that God has given me the privilege of raising each of these unique individuals.
And seven tries to get it right, ha!
That most definitely remains to be seen.
