I think instead of seeing me as her mother who will walk around holding her hand and run after her, she thinks I am her personal motorized wheelchair. My arms are her “seat” and she is the boss.
If she wants to turn right, she points to the right and whines.
If she wants me to go somewhere when we’re in the seated position (her plump little bum always planted firmly on my lap), she pulls hard on my shoulders while she gives the same order…a whine.
Sometimes she just leans one way and gives a little grunt and I’m supposed to comply… “go that way.”
If I put her down and beg her to just walk, she’s got her automatic response ready: that full-blown tantrum she can pull from up her sleeve at a moment’s notice. And she has no problem doing her signature move…the fall-down-thrust-head-backward thing.
Right now it’s 6:18 am. We are in a house full of sleeping people. It has pretty much no insulation. I made the mistake of staying up until nearly 2:00 last night. I’m beat. Lucy’s supposed to be asleep. She went to bed late last night. But lately she’s decided she’s an early bird. She misses her motorized wheelchair too much if she sleeps too long.
So I’m sitting here trying to keep her quiet. I tried laying next to her while she plays with her building blocks that she loves…trying to catch even a minute more sleep. But no, she’s not happy unless she’s firmly planted right on my lap. So I’m sitting here leaning over to the left, my back all skiwampus so I can type while she sits contently on my lap. Gotta vent…until she just patted my shoulder, looked up at me and said “Mama” with a dimpled grin.
Now how can I stay mad at that?
She’s got me wrapped around her finger.