I don't really remember the boys' terrible twos. Not to say that they didn't happen, but that I've blocked them from my memory. I may have been lulled into a false sense of complacency by that, figuring that they must not have been that bad so they probably wouldn't be bad this time. HA.
I've learned the hard way that I can't leave her alone in the babyproofed living room for even thirty seconds. I used to be able to. I'm pretty sure I could as recently as last month. Now, though, it's like she has cased the joint for stuff she can get into when I turn my back. Sometimes she doesn't even wait until I've left the room; yesterday she climbed up on the couch and reached for a glass of water that was on the console table behind it. "No, Baby Girl, don't touch it," I said, while reaching for the glass. She looked right at me and knocked that sucker over. On purpose. Without breaking eye contact.
I had to put her in her crib for five minutes so I could make a phone call--normally she would be able to stay, but she wouldn't stop screaming just for fun.
Not getting up when someone comes in to take her out of her crib is her version of the silent treatment.
Then, it was time for lunch. (Yes, she's still in her pajamas. It was cold until about 2 PM even though the thermostat said it wasn't, and she won't leave socks on, so a footy sleeper is the easiest solution.)
I can't remember why she was crying here. I think it was because I wouldn't let her shove her entire lunch in her mouth at once.
Here she is slapping the table. I do not know what the table did to her.
I put her down for her nap and she signaled to me that she was ready to be put down by slapping me in the face. It's not the first time. She slept for almost four hours, though. Her mood was a little better after, although she threw a book when I told her to say please.
She's lucky she's cute.