So Elizabeth is now two and heavens don't we know it. She is the most two-ish two year old ever as I am sure all two year olds are. She is so two we sometimes wonder if we have slipped into an alternate universe where people only speak in repeat patterns - 'I've got something to show you', 'I've got something to show you', 'I've got something to show you' - and cry at every, tiny detail of the day. It is exhausting.
And exhilarating all at the same time. Sometimes when she is hanging upside down or sticking play doh into my handbag I ask Darren 'what is she doing'? and he just replies, 'she is two'. That is all the explanation you'll ever need to get through the year of two. That and eye rolls, plenty of that going on round these parts lately.
I remember when we discovered the most excellent blog reasons my son is crying and laughed, ho, ho, ho, this is so funny, we are so smug because Betsy never cries, ho, ho, ho.
Yeah. Then we realised that Betsy never cried because Betsy was not two! Crying enters the curriculum of child the day they turn two, I swear it. And the awful thing that nobody ever tells you is how hard it is not to laugh when they are crying for the third time in one hour because Mr Potato Head is looking at them and then how bad you feel because laughing at them has made them cry even more.
So she doesn't like being looked at or being shown something, or more precisely being shown how to do something. Learning to ride a bike = fail, being read to, 'no I read it', sung to, 'no mummy it's my turn', or danced in front of, 'no mummy, NO!". All of these things at various points during the day will set her off, it's a toddler minefield out there.
And I'm not moaning, really. I am astonished at her ability to cry, laugh, sulk and cuddle in the space of sixty seconds. It's fantastic how vibrant she is, how aware of every little thing going on around her, how absorbed she is with the present moment, she is zen personified.
She is living it large in the movie of her life and we are her supporting actors, attending to her every need so that she can get on with the important job of being fabulous. She has so much energy it is quite horrifying and sadly not as contagious as people say.
You learn to roll with it and let her do her worst (especially when out and about), because at some time she will have to stop (or cry) and then you can have a rest because at least when she is bawling, you don't have to worry about her flinging herself in front of shopping trolleys, climbing up shelves, pulling down bottles of wine or barging into unsuspecting grannies.
She has just about recovered from the excess of Christmas, I'm not sure we have yet. It was one giant present fest, and yes she got a lot of pink stuff and kitchen stuff, we have tried to balance the pinkness with a tool kit, good eh? But who are we kidding, all she wants to do is cook dinner for her Daddy wearing pink snow boots with pink pom poms on!