And she knows what she wants.

Me: Ok, ok, that's enough. No more hitting.

Baby girl completely ignores my polite, but stern (see: best mom voice) request and curls her tiny fingers in a ball and pounds the middle of her brother's back.  Like, really?!

Me: Alright, that's it. You are having a time out.

I swiftly lift her in my arms, pigtails and arms equally flailing, and put her on the very well-worn, well-known, well-used bottom step.

Baby girl: No mama, nooooo!!!

Her back arches, she squints her eyes, tears line her cheeks.

She's upset. But not for long. Her (nearly) 2 year old brain will remember this for exactly eight seco....aaaand now it's forgotten. Yep, she's laughing. She's coldly laughing and rolling on the floor. She's coldly laughing,  rolling on the floor and begins yelling, "go back and play" at the top of her lungs. Even the dog looks at her with an unimpressed, "oh no you didn't" look. Jesus, like a warrior returning to battle, she runs back to the living room. Oh, hell.
Have I done something really wrong here? Should I trust her around blunt objects? Just who am I raising?


Am I recreating my not so distant past? Because I remember putting my first, my sleeping wonder, on the "time out step" approximately 5 times when he was 2 years old. It's only 10:30 am and baby girl has occupied that spot no less than half a dozen times. I appreciate her feistiness. Really, I do. She is my spirited, independent, funny little girl and believe me, there is nothing I would want  more than for my baby to grow up knowing she can defend herself, that she is strong, that she can get whatever she wants. Except right now she wants her brother's car and she will pinch and hit until it is hers. (for his part, the sleeping wonder takes this all in stride and politely asks her to stop. Or he cries. There's a lot of tears in our house.)

I knew having two would lend itself to a whole new set of challenges (see: losing my mind). Being the eldest of three, I know the kind of fighting that occurs between siblings, I just hadn't anticipated how EARLY this would begin (a detail my mother kindly forgot to mention.) Baby girl is vocal (like, can already yell in your face kind of vocal) and really, it has taken our family for a bit of a surprise. I can't say I'm not a little proud of this super go get' em attitude; I just wish it was a little less, oh, violent.

In the meantime, I struggle for an appropriate response. I yell (which c'mon, is rarely effective), I talk, I rationalize, I reason. There really doesn't seem to be anything concrete that works. She's two, she's the second child. Right, I know, but I can't help but think somehow I am responsible for her tiny fists of fury. She is my sweetest of girls and when she shows joy, and love, and happiness it is all rainbows and cotton candy. But when she turns, she turns fast and be warned, those little pinches hurt.

And she's all that.

Me:  But I want you to stay like this. Stop growing. Pleaaaassseee! (I scoop up my not so little boy in my arms and nuzzle him to my chest. He used to fit right there not that long ago.)

Sleeping Wonder: But mommy, I'm just a boy. I have to grow. (I squeeze him a little too tightly and he moans and tries to push away. I'm still much stronger -for lords knows how long- and pull him impossibly closer.) 

Me: But mommy wants you to stop. You're getting so big, so quickly. Come here, cuddle with mama. (I plant little kisses all over his face)

Wonder: (sighing in frustration) But I don't want to. (he perks up) Do you want to watch the Food Network instead?

See? This is what I'm talking about. 

Every time I'm shopping with the kidlets, it goes without saying that an elderly woman will stop me and gently remind me to "enjoy" them while they are young, that this is the best age, that they grow up so fast. And yes, all the cliches are true, of course enjoying every moment is ridiculous, however time has taken on this momentum that makes my head spin most days asking where in the hell the last (almost) 4 years have gone.

When baby girl was just over 5 months old, I left her in the living room to make myself a cup of tea in the kitchen nearby. When I returned just a few moments later, I found her under the vintage purple chair in the corner of the room, happily smiling at her accomplished movement. I was shocked (and if I am being honest here, a little disappointed that she was on the go SO early) but if anything, that day foreshadowed everything that baby girl is all about-accomplishing every milestone too soon, too quickly.

Standing in the crib at 7 months. Walking at 11 months. Telling me off since 12 months. Yep, it's all too much. What's next? Locking the liquor up by 3?  She did starting "cheersing" us at the table months ago, after all.

So now at 15 months, her and the sleeping wonder are their own little pack. They laugh together, get into trouble together, they fight, they dance and she does every little thing her older brother does.  Sure, mama and daddy are still numero uno for now, but really, I can already see them slowly beginning their descent from us. Am I going crazy or does anyone else feel this? Where is the pause button?

Yesterday, the sleeping wonder closed the door to his room, turned up his radio and proudly announced minutes later that he was having his own dance party.

Yep, too much, too soon.