We have entered that dreaded phase, the terrible ego maniacal twos. Arkaedi Sue is a demon on wheels. (When... when she is on wheels. Usually she's a demon on feet.)(Actually she's a demon in awesome pink boots. Perfect.)
In a few short seconds, she scratches Viri, knocks over his soy milk, runs into the computer room and deletes something, then does a victory dance. I don't even know how she moves so fast. She must have planned out the attack in order to execute it so ruthlessly. It's deadly efficiency from someone who is three feet tall and twenty five pounds. (Viri hugged her and said he still loved her. He's a trooper.)
I remember this stage with Viri. It was the "never again will I have children" phase. Now, knowing I probably won't be having any more, it is both more and less frustrating. I'm anxious for it to be over, but I'm sad, too. They're only irritating in this special way for a short time. Which sounds sarcastic, but it isn't.
Arkaedi is going through this sooner than Viri did. I guess it's a combination girl/second kid thing, but she is terrible a few months before two, and he was terribly a few months before three. Maybe Viri just saved it up. Maybe I didn't notice it as easily. I surely notice this; the milk stains and scars on my son are a record.
At least she's cute about it. She gets away with so much more due to her cuteness. After dumping her food out for the third time the other day, I growled at her in exasperation. She ran over to the doorway, threw her hands in the air, and shouted "Me!" at the top of her lungs. Which, now that I think about it, means she wins. I have a feeling I'd better get used to that. Pretty Pretty is born to be a winner.