Happy birthday to me

It’s my birthday today.  I’m not 30, but I sure do feel like it.  At least.  Maybe even 35.  And that’s because Eirinn doesn’t like to sleep much anymore.  She’s decided that sleep is a bad habit to keep.  It’s probably even a sin in some religions.

Guess what she gave me this morning for my birthday gift?  Four temper tantrums within a half an hour.  Lucky me, huh?

Tantrum #1 – She wanted an Elmo diaper.  Psst – they are ALL Elmo diapers.  But she wanted an Elmo diaper.  No, not that one.  No, not that one.  Not that one.  Nope.  Nuh uhn.  ELMO DIAPER!  I still don’t know what she actually wanted.  She was clearly saying “Elmo Diaper”, but after offering her five (5) different diapers, all of which had a picture and/or pictures of Elmo splattered across the band and on the bum, I realized that maybe she didn’t actually want an Elmo Diaper and that “Elmo Diaper” is code for something that I have yet to learn.

Tantrum #2 – The soother.  She thought, in honour of my birthday, we could turn a blind eye to the “big girls only have a soother when they go to bed” rule.  Just for today.  But Mommy don’t play dat.

Tantrum #3 – She wanted me to read her Diego book.  Not to her; on my own.  Whaaaaaat?  Nevermind the breakfast I was feeding her, the breakfast I had yet to eat myself, the lunch I had to make, the snacks I had to assemble, the wrangling-fussy-toddler-into-some-semblance-of-winter-clothing.  I should take the time to read the Great American Novel that is Diego Saves Sammy the Sloth.  For the thousandth time.

After three tantrums between 7:20 and 7:45, I didn’t have the energy to challange her when she asked to wear her red dinosaur rain boots instead of her pink Pooh bear snow boots.  Fine.  No big deal.  It’s cold, but not frostbite weather.

Tantrum #4 occurred on the way to my mom’s house.  She tried to take her arm out of her coat sleeve while buckled into the car seat while we were in motion.  She got stuck.  And because I am 28 and not 35, I just laughed at her.  Because if what I get for my birthday from her is four temper tantrums, she deserves to be stuck all awkward-like for the two minute drive to daycare.  Ha.  Ha.

Vampires beware

Do you know what you shouldn’t feed a toddler?  Croutons.  Extra garlic croutons.  Unless you like that brand of stink.

Monday at lunch Eirinn spied the bag of croutons on the counter at my mom’s.  They were unopened because no one wanted to eat them.  No one, that is, except Eirinn.  Those croutons were all she wanted to eat for lunch.  And, being spoiled rotten, she got them and ate them all.

That was Monday and today is Wednesday and she still reeks.  The garlic spreads throughout her body and seeps out of her pores like sweat.  Stinky, pungent sweat.  Sweat that makes me want to heave my non-crouton lunch all over the floor.  Which is really sad because when Eirinn wants a kiss, I distract her with something else (Is that Dora at the door?) so I don’t have to bring my nose that close to her mouth.

This can’t last forever.  I’m sure it will dissipate soon.  Please, Lordy, make it dissipate soon.

This is one of those stories I’m going to tell when we meet her first boyfriend.

Smarter than your average bear

Now she’s getting into paragraphs:

“Lookit, Bugba.  It’s a picture of Baby Eirinn and a pony.”

I would be a whole lot more proud of her if she didn’t wake up at 2 am for a two hour long “Mama!  Daddy!” session for no apparent reason.  But even so, this little 20 month old amazes me more and more every day with what I didn’t even know she has been learning.  When does she pick this stuff up?  I always thought she was too busy running laps around the dining room table.