"Do You Have a Few Minutes To Talk About Charlotte's Behavior?"

I’m officially a less-than-stellar mommy. On Friday, I had a long conversation with Charlotte’s teacher, and let’s just say that my daughter is:

• Inpatient
• Willful
• Territorial
• Temperamental

We’ve been battling some tantrums at home lately, and Charlotte is acting out at school. Through the Mommy–Daddy lens of adoration, we saw these traits as signs of spiritedness. And I do believe that our little girl is incredibly spirited. But the fact of the matter is that she’s ruling the roost, and Mommy and Daddy need to take back control.

Literally since she was born, Charlotte has been headstrong and determined, knowing exactly what she wants and fighting for it. As I was birthing the darling thing, my OB-GYN laughed (laughed!) at Charlotte’s wriggling head, doing her part and fighting fighting fighting to be born. On Day 2 of life, I had a complete meltdown with the hospital’s lactation consultant, as my girl’s bizarrely strong sucking reflex had wreaked havoc on Mommy, doing more damage in less than time than the consultant had ever seen.

Charlotte is my first and only baby—I had no one to compare her to, but I started to realize that part of her personality was doing everything in the extreme. She inhaled milk or formula, and later food. Couldn’t eat it fast enough. (That still holds true, by the way.) She set school records in both spit-up and poop explosions. She turned colds into massive ear infections, and a stomach virus into a very threatening, hospital-stay-required infection.

She bolts from place to place. She does not walk. She bolts. I still carry her across parking lots, as I fear her ripping out of the death grip of my hand and getting hit by a car. The one time I thought “this is ridiculous—she’s almost two. I should let her walk,” she did precisely what I feared—she somehow broke free, and thank goodness an oncoming SUV immediately braked.

Everything Charlotte does seems to be punctuated with a fat, definitive period after it. Charlotte does not set a cup down on the table; she slams it. She doesn’t like a trickle from the bath faucet to play with; she wants the water on full-blast. She doesn’t step down the stairs one by one; she jumps from stair to stair; she does not close cupboards or drawers; she bangs them shut. She does not lazily roll around on her bike or car; she barrels down the driveway at a terrifying speed.  

Since she was a baby, and as a young toddler, her teachers described how she entered each day with such gusto and joy, fascinated with and unafraid of new experiences. Everything in the world was good and fun, except going to the pediatrician’s office. (She’s like a dog going to the vet—she stiffens and howls as we pull into the parking lot. But she’s getting much better!)

The trouble is, the spiritedness that makes Charlotte so lively and goofy and fun is morphing into the terrible twos.

The long and the short of it? She’s being disruptive, throwing tantrums, and being, well, naughty.

Some of this is due to Charlotte’s temperament—I truly believe that our child is wired a certain way that makes her “extreme” in how she goes about doing things. Watching Charlotte do anything is like watching a video on fast-forward. It’s exhausting.

And, as all you know-it-alls out there already know, Chris and I deserve a lot of the blame. We’ve gotten so used to accommodating her demands that we do it without thinking. We do things faster to keep her from going nuts from impatience; we do meals on her time-table; we stop what we’re doing, always, when she wants us to.

Some of this, I’ll admit, I do because I work during the day—I don’t want Charlotte to have to fight for my attention at home. But perhaps I’ve overdone it. I always make sure we have one-on-one play time, story time, silly time, and even mommy–daughter cartoon time. As much Charlotte–Mommyness as I can squeeze in. So, would making her wait 2 minutes for dinner while I unload the car be THAT tragic? She’s hardly neglected.  The truth is, we’ve gotten very used to letting her rule. I’ve joked that she’s our little dictator. But, um, she actually is.

Chris makes mistakes too. I won’t list them.

This weekend, we’ve worked hard to not screw up our child, rewarding patience and ignoring tantrums. Charlotte has learned the word “help” (which sounds like either “hep” or “hell” when she says it), and we’re encouraging her to say “help” when she needs help with something (e.g., putting on a lid, taking off a sock, catching a runaway pea) instead of OH MY GOODNESS SCREAMING AND FREAKING OUT ABOUT IT. To my great, great delight, she has actually said “help” many times (not all, but many) since learning it, and I think she’s gratified that she can get the help she needs without spending the energy to have a fit. I’ve also included her in the preparation of her meals, which hopefully shows her that it takes some time to spread peanut butter and jelly on bread.

In short, I believe we’re heading in the right direction. In fact, we've had a great weekend, and l was struck (as I often am) at how great our Charlotte is. We just have a few tweaks to make. Tweaks we probably wouldn't have been aware of, that could possibly resolve themselves with time, were she not in school and required to function now in a class full of (older) kids.

Do I want to break her spirit? Oh, heavens no. Charlotte’s ballsy exuberance is who she is, and we love that about her.

Her teacher did, of course, mention that a sibling would help things.

Right.

Like we hadn’t already thought of that.