The girl terrible twos are worse than the boy terrible twos


Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding! Round two is underway. Just as Aidan seems to be fully coming out of his difficult stage, Sarah has re-introduced myself and Daddy Chambers to the terrible twos.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned and the female version of the terrible twos is a whole different ball game to the male version. Aidan was just wild. He ran everywhere, usually away from me. He climbed everything and never listened. His little sister, however, has suddenly turned into an irrational and emotional mess! Daddy Chambers thinks she’s just a stereotypical woman! I personally think he is being totally contemptuous though!

The weekend just passed was a particularly emotional one for wee Sarah. On Sunday evening she informed Daddy Chambers that she had done a poo and insisted he change her nappy. Fair enough request you might think? Except when her father popped her up on the changing mat to freshen her up there was no poo. The nappy I had only put on her minutes earlier was dry and clean as a whistle. Naturally he informed her of this, pulled her tights back up and attempted to send her on her merry way. Cue meltdown mode. She was adamant she wanted the fantasy feces removed, the tears rolled down her face as she begged her father to ‘take it out’ and no amount of talking could convince her that her nappy was, in fact, clean! I just wish she was as willing when she actually needed her nappy changed, but that’s a whole different story!

Speaking of poo, on Saturday evening when her and Aidan were having their bath before bed time she announced she wanted to sit on the loo and do her business. I’ve heard that girls toilet train a lot earlier than boys so I said what the heck and let her at it. It took a while but she did indeed use the loo and she was naturally delighted with herself.

Thereafter, she had her bath and, as normal, I took her out, dried her, put on her pajamas and dried her hair in preparation for bedtime. I wandered up the hall and into the kitchen to warm her beaker of milk. As I went back down the hall I found her in the bathroom, stark naked and attempting to climb onto the toilet. “What are you doing Sarah,” I asked. Doing my poos, says she. So first up I explained that there was no need to take off all of her clothes when she wanted to use the toilet. She was not one bit impressed with this so I didn’t dwell on it! I then explained that I very much so doubted that she needed to actually use the loo again because she went only minutes earlier before her bath. It fell on deaf ears! She insisted she was going to wait for her ‘poos’ to come. I wasn’t in the mood for another battle so I let her be. I figured she’d get bored fairly quickly, my reason being that the attention span of a two-year-old wouldn’t be great. That’s the experience I had with her brother anyway.

Oh but she proved me wrong. Oh so wrong. It had been a long day and I was itching to get her into bed so I asked her to get down from the toilet, get dressed and go to leaba. She’s usually pretty good at going to bed but in this instance she was having none of it. She screamed and clawed at me when I tried to take her off the lavatory. I tried to bribe her with the milk but I was wasting my time. In the end I just had to be firm, so I picked her up and wrestled the nappy and pajamas back on to her. The screaming must have worn her out and she was out cold when the milk was gone. I closed the door and ran straight to the fridge for the cold, refreshing bottle of wine!

Returning to Sunday, the boys were on a mission to clear out the garage so I decided to fulfil the stereotype in Daddy Chambers’ head and went shopping. I was told in no uncertain terms that Sarah would be more of a hindrance than a help in the garage so she had to come with me.

I fairness she loves wandering around the shops with me so I didn’t mind. Except the last time she came with me she wasn’t irrational and emotional. In Zara she lost her s*it when I wouldn’t buy an adult scarf she threw her eye on. When she eventually got over the trauma of not being allowed to get the scarf, she spotted the small perfume section over to the right of the cash desk. She doused herself with all the samples before I got to her. She wasn’t really doing any harm but I wanted to get her out of there and she flipped the lid again. I tried my best to reason with her but she was screeching so loud that she couldn’t even hear what I was saying. As she struggled for breath I got the word chocolate in and I was so relieved she heard it. It was my get out of Zara card! I headed for Starbucks just because it was close to the lift down to where my car was parked, she picked out a marshmallow covered with milk chocolate and white chocolate stars. I bundled her up, caught the lift, paid for my parking, strapped her in and vowed to not go shopping with her until she was three! I thought about it again, purely going on how it played out with her brother, and decided I’m probably better off waiting until she’s nearly four!



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