My Little Girl - The Contrary Brat

I swear, if I didn’t know her so well, I would seriously have to question the age of my little girl. Some of the things she comes out with can only be described as akin to an old lady, while the tantrums she can have are worse than that of her baby sister. Despite this, it's her attitude that can often be the most trying (although most of the time I'll have to suppress a smirk), which is so much like a teenager's that it's scary. She has an answer for absolutely everything, whether she's asking for a pink cake upon the refusal of a white one or whether she's proving me to be a liar when I tell her that I can't find a toy she wants. She belies her age with how sharp her tongue is at times.

Her staying power is something else; I call her my little lawyer. She is just so stubborn, and I don’t think I’ve met a child that is so persistent. I’ve been steadfastly refusing for a good 25 minutes to allow her to spray me with her children’s’ perfume, but after half ‘n’ hour I’m pretty much swimming in the stuff. I’ll tell her that she can play with her sand or Play dough once my littlest girl has gone to bed, and from that point she’ll enquire as to how tired her sister is every five minutes. This flips on its head when she is playing during the day though, as we can’t keep her on task for more than five minutes (unless she’s asking us to draw something for her). She’ll go from jigsaws to dress up, from kitchen to ice cream cart without blinking; all-the-while leaving us a huge mess to clear up behind her.

When she’s playing, whatever she’s playing with, she likes things the way she likes them; and she wants things the way she wants them. God forbid I play with something in a way that she doesn’t intend and cover your ears if the other half of the terrible twosome walks towards one of her creations (although I can often sympathise with this). She likes to push her luck just a tad; like when she opens the umbrella just that little bit more than her superstitious mother wants her to or when I tell she can have as many Pringles as she can get in one go and she pours half a tub into her hand. When I tell her to sit in one place, she'll sit down, but just a little further along from me; and when I think she’s beat, there’s always a compromise to be had, like glue and glitter being a slightly less messy alternative to painting.

Then there’s the mood swings. There's little more Jekyll & Hyde than a toddler-come-child, and my little girl takes the cake in this respect. One minute she’ll be happily laughing, the next a ball might bounce the wrong way and all hell will break loose; while it’s not worth our life if we flush the toilet chain when she wants to. Mealtimes are no picnic either at times, where if she asks for something and receives an alternative option, just try and get her to eat it. If we give her what she’s asked for, but she’s decided on a different dish mid-cook, then ditto. Eating out has become a pain too, as 90% of the time she wants pizza, and if they don’t serve it, well; I’m sure you know where I’m going with this.

I love my little girl. She is creative, she is full of life (except when I wake her up for school) and she is headstrong. I could go with the cliché that I wouldn’t take her any other way, but I could do with her being a little less volatile at times. Before I had kids I was adamant that much of what I’d written here would be nipped in the bud early, that I would be the strong one, the resilient one, the one to put my foot down and to be the boss; fat chance! There is discipline of course, she is told when she ultimately steps too far, bit I’ve quickly learned that I need to choose my battles.

By Calum Dewsbury