The littlest dictator

[Attention Becky, and anyone else reading this who is pregnant with, thinking about becoming pregnant with, or really even just related to anyone who is considering two children: read at your own risk. And when I tell you later, "oh 2 is fine, you'll do great, the second one is easier, etc., etc." - do not throw this back in my face...]

Oh Charlotte, my Charlotte. What am I going to do with you? How do I convince you not to bite? Not to hit? Not to run after your sister hollering your scream of death (henceforth known as Charlotte's battle cry) because she looked at you while you were holding a toy?

I know that as parents we're more relaxed with number two. I can see it in the way we treat Charlotte versus how we were with Elisabeth. While we still are big proponents of "the schedule" - Charlotte has skipped more naps in her little life than Elisabeth did in her entire life. You want M&Ms? It will keep you from screaming? Here's a handful. Oh you don't want to eat in your high chair? Standing straight up in the adult sized chair that Elisabeth was just sitting in and spreading food all over the table and throughout every strand of your hair will keep you from screaming and get you to eat? Fine, here's the chair. But, I worry that we're going to turn into those parents, or rather that Charlotte is that child.

Tonight, I wondered what in the world possessed us to have two children and then - once I was already suckered into the second - why I didn't insist that the OB tie, no tie and solder my tubes together then fill them with concrete for good measure. Tonight was, needless to say, not a good night in this house. The entire day, really, was less than pleasant. Every word out of both of their mouths was either a complaint, demand, or said at a volume of 100 dB - or approximately the volume of a train going by. Elisabeth was just generally disagreeable - she cried loudly and for a long time over the fact that she cut up her crepes by herself and then couldn't pick up the whole crepe to eat it. She cried because we were going for a walk. She kicked and stomped when told she isn't old enough to stay home by herself and earned herself a big fat timeout.

Charlotte is apparently over tired. She didn't nap well and then punished the rest of us by biting us, hitting us with various toys, straightening her little body and screaming bloody murder if you told her she couldn't do [insert forbidden activity here], throwing food at us, or doing the gutteral yell that I'm now calling her "battle cry" for no particular reason.

In all seriousness, I'm not quite sure what we'll do with Ms. Charlotte. I suspect we're on the cusp of full blown toddlerness, yet she's too young still for timeouts and 1-2-3 Magic. Distraction isn't the greatest tool with her because she is pretty strong willed, but even still how do you distract a kid when she's heading for you with the Russian stacking dolls (the source of the welt on my wrist)? We never dealt with violence with Elisabeth, so this is uncharted territory for us. I've heard, and read, about the bite them back logic - but I doubt that expands to hit them back with the Russian stacking doll.

And how do you keep them from flinging themselves off of the couch just for fun? Or force them to eat sitting nicely in their highchairs? I know I could just take her food away from her when she starts acting up - and perhaps that is the answer - but is it really so bad to let her eat standing up in a big girl chair? I know, I know - it is. But it is kind of cute, in our defense. And she doesn't get to go to restaurants so often. And I'm pretty sure she won't go off to college eating like that. But it is all a control game and we can't let her in on the secret that our lives really do revolve around the kids.

Oh, and Charlotte has learned "no." Not the word, but the head shake. The very big, hair flopping, oversized headshake. It is really cute, and silent - so kind of a bonus. And at least this way, I can ask her "do you want applesauce" and get an answer in the form of a headshake instead of in the form of a bowl of applesauce thrown at me. The kid's got an arm.

Wasn't the second one supposed to be easier????