It doesn’t take much these days to hurt the Little Lady’s feelings.
A look, an instruction, the announcement of nap time, or the word “no” will instantly create a pouty lip, down-turned head, and a slow, dragging walk off to some corner.
And she mutters — to herself — a monologue on the injustice of being a powerless two year old.
After hearing her grandmother and I discuss the behavior,
the Little Lady now has an arsenal of responses for when she is asked what is wrong.
Statements that are always prefaced with a deep, down from the soul, sigh.
“I’m just pouting.”
“I’m so . . . fwustrated.”
“I’m a Dwama Queen.”
Goodness, it must be so hard to be two.
