I'm not sure if toddlers can be diagnosed with bipolar disorder, but if they can, I have a prime candidate.
At best I can chalk it up to: "She's four years old. Kids are like that. Fuck it!" But then she goes from this caring and gentle soul who sometimes seems learned and intelligent way beyond your average four year old (#humblebragparenting) to this bratty little shit that if an adult talked to me this way, I'm pretty sure a real fight would have broken out by now, at the very least, I would have unfriended them on Facebook (#parentingFAIL).
Talking back. Arguing. Being outright rude. She does it all and every bit of it stems from the thorny briar blossom of stubbornness deep in her personality, a seed handed down by generations upon generations, and only the combination of Liz and myself could cross pollinate such a perfectly stubborn individual.
In a way, I'm proud. I know that attitude can get a lot of shit done, even if it means taking the most difficult path to get anywhere.
In another way, I apologize to all of you for putting up with it for so long and thank you for letting me live so long. I am now getting my comeuppance in spades.
Look, the checkers have to go like this, make yours like mine are.
"No, I wanna do it this way."
No, you have to line'em up like this or we can't play.
"Well I'm playing the Kids Rules and I get to jump you from here like this."
No, there is no 'Kids Rules,' there's just the rules. Do you wanna play or not?
"I KNOW THE RULES I TOLD YOU I KNOW EVERY THING!!!"