Wrong Side of the Bed

Every day I try to remember not to tell Laurel to go to the bathroom before we go downstairs for breakfast. It really pisses her off for some reason. And then there is a giant argument, tears, insistance that we carry her, that everything is wrong, that she does "not like what you are saying." Even after I rescind my very reasonable advice that one should empty one's bladder upon waking, it's too late. She's already over the edge.

The last two days, she protested a lot over her one waffle. She wanted two. She never eats two. I must admit, I'm a little less stingy with the foods I don't care for so much, but I love waffles. Especially $5 a box gluten free waffles. "You can have another one, if you finish that one," I say, and think about how much that makes me sound like a mom. She never finishes even one waffle. She eats all the bites that have jelly on them, but leaves the naked edge pieces.

The moods shift quickly. This morning, M made the mistake of suggesting a morning potty visit. After much ado, Laurel went into the bathroom to pee anyway, and said, "I have tears! Why do I have tears?"

Um, because you were freaking out for like ten minutes. For no apparent reason. Again.

I wonder if we are supposed to parent this out of her, or if it's just another phase she'll grow out of.

I wonder if other people have nutty 3 year olds living in their houses.

I wonder if everyone was like this when they were 3, even people like Barack Obama. Or Mother Theresa.