There's good reason, I'm learning, that my daughter's age is termed "the Terrible Twos." And I've gone into what's terrible about it many a time on this blog, in conversations with other moms on the playground, and to anyone who will listen, really, or at least not actively run away.
But there's plenty to like about this age, too (which I guess is how these little people we live with manage to live to see three). My favorite part lately is hearing the things that come out of Nora's mouth. There's not a day that she doesn't say something that makes me laugh out loud. And because of her penchant for being talkative in public, she's made many other people laugh out loud, too. (Though it's not always clear whether they're laughing at what she says or the shade of red my face turns when she says some of this stuff.)
A couple weeks ago, she was squirmy and unhappy in the grocery store -- a place I already detest visiting. So I was visibly grumpy and just trying to get through my list as fast as I could before the onset of full toddler meltdown. By the time we'd made it to the milk section (maybe the halfway point of our visit), she'd cried twice after I scolded her and thrown her cup of Goldfish crackers once. It was THAT kind of grocery trip. But it just so happens that the milk section is directly across from the beer aisle. And after yet another session of commanding/asking/begging Nora not to grab stuff out of the cart she was strapped into, she looked me straight in the face, pointed at the beer aisle, and said "Mama, maybe beer will make you feel better."
Sign Up and Save
Get six months of free digital access to The News & Observer
Last night at dinner, Nora quickly lost interest in eating, which is not uncommon. She chows right down at breakfast and lunch, but there's something about dinner that apparently takes all the joy out of eating for her – and, consequently, for the rest of us. So it's usually a pretty grumpy time all around.
But this time, instead of her usual fussing, squirming and throwing of food, Nora tried a new tactic.
"Dada," she said, looking him in the eye with a very serious expression. "I think I'm sick."
"Oh yeah?" questioned Dada, highly skeptical.
"Yeah," she said. "I think I need some medicine. Let's take my temperature … in my butt."
We shouldn't have let her win that one, I know, I know. But we were too busy laughing to continue begging her/cajoling her/threatening her to eat, so I think we skipped straight to dessert (for which she made a miraculous recovery) and called it a night.
I really should be keeping a running list of these quotes, shouldn't I? Sometimes, if she says something that cracks me up in the morning, I've already forgotten it by the time my husband gets home in the evening. Luckily, there's a steady supply of new material. But one day, when she's older, I know I'll want a compendium of these things, either for my own amusement or possibly for blackmail purposes. Best to be ready, in either case.