It’s just as well that Trouts don’t eat their own young, or Middle Trout would have been devoured raw and whole. I think she just moved from one tantrum to the next all of yesterday. It wasn’t anything exceptional, just a typical 2 year old minx being a 2 year old minx. But on limited sleep it’s hard to take (all 3 girls were hot-bedding beside me all that night – at one point they were all wailing to be the one getting Mummy-cuddles, while The Boss slept blissfully on, too exhausted to wake).
In the morning Minx 2: poked and prodded Baby Trout in the face every 45 seconds; experimented with what happens when you stuff a bib in a baby’s mouth (those trusting little eyes, once full of admiration for a beloved big sister, fill with hurt tears); peed on the sofa, 3 cushions, the carpet and a blanket despite reminders every 10 minutes to “Sit on your potty!”; timed how long it takes Mummy to notice you surreptitiously pouring yours and your big sister’s beakers of milk on the floor (answer: too bloody long); and pulled her big sister’s hair and yanked her toys apart.
In the afternoon she: woke her baby sister in terror by uttering a frustrated war cry that would have pierced a wall of butter (she wanted let out the car first despite being
botch-taped strapped to the middle car seat); peed on the floor and crowed about it; furtively peed on the highchair and sniggered about it; fell asleep in her dinner (yes, in. As in: chicken risotto squishing round that petulant little mouth); screamed to escape Mummy’s evil clutches on the way up the stairs; hissed like a cat being hosed down whilst being… well, hosed down; screeched whilst being changed for bed; roared for Mummy-cuddles the very instant I left her to feel Baby Trout; and… on and on and on. You get the picture. She screamed herself literally hoarse after 37 minutes of ranting (I timed it – can you tell?). A dark side of me was impressed with her tenacity and depth of rage at the injustice of her not being able to have her own way. Still, I’m glad The Boss dealt with that one.
This morning she was a very subdued little Minx and did (mostly) what she was told.
It being a nursery day, I’m now reflecting on the positive side of yesterday: Minx 1 interpreted the signs of Mummy-meltdown approaching (muttered thick Glaswegian curses) so was as good as gold and only whinged twice all day. And at least Minx 2 didn’t bite anyone. Only a few months ago her nursery teacher encouragingly told me: “Ooo, we had a really good day today! L only bit 3 children, one member of staff and tried to stab another teacher with a pencil. She’s getting better!” I still don’t know how we got through that stage without them expelling her or insisting on a muzzle. But I do know why our Naughty Step is almost worn through.