She is SO playing us

Silvia's tiny, plump little hands have been weaving a subtle spell lately. That child is NOT a baby anymore. Kurt and I have sort of been parenting her on auto-pilot, not holding her responsible, not forcing confrontations, challenges or expectations. But yesterday, that "little tiny baby who doesn't understand" somehow ended up eating strawberry shortcake for dinner. Strawberry-sugar-processed-completely-void-of nutritional-value shortcake. How could that happen, you ask?

Here it is. We went out to the salad bar place we like. It's very kid friendly and has loads of options for our picky eaters. Anna had mac n' cheese with a large helping of fruit on the side. Silvia cried and shook her head and wriggled to climb out of her high chair and tried to throw everything we offered her.

So, rolling our eyes and not even thinking about it, we handed her a bowl of dessert and a bread stick. You know, to settle her. As we were getting ready to leave, she started fussing again, this time for chocolate milk, whining that she was messy and then not letting me clean her up. Kurt and I looked at each other. It was an epiphanic parental moment. You could practically hear the boot of reality kicking us upside the head.

Re-read that previous sentence about all the things Silvia was saying and doing. Saying and doing implies communication and understanding. Oh, that's no baby, my friends. That's a toddler with very well duped parents. She knows exactly what she's doing.

I picked her up, plopped her on the floor, staring into the distance just past her head as I wiped off her protesting little face and hands. Then I frog-marched her out the door, ignoring the constant whine for something, anything, on the ride home. Guess what? Slowly, with a tone of confusion, she got quieter and spaced her demands out more and more.

"I think maybe we need to turn up the toddler discipline," Kurt said on our evening walk. "She's not really an innocent baby anymore." Silvia reached over and smacked Anna, giggling. Anna screamed and reached over and pulled her hair. Then the whine for chocolate milk picked up from both sides.

"I think we need to plop her in a separate room and walk away every time she makes a noise above a certain decibel level," I said.

Staring at each other over their heads, we finally identified that heavy weight that has been pulling down against our shoulders. It is not gravity, friends and neighbors. It's the passage of time. The next stage is not tomorrow, it's here right now. And it's shrieking.

Never fear. We've done this before, it just took us a little longer to catch on the second time around, blinded as we have been by the age difference between the two girls. We're on the offensive now. Mommy and Daddy can play this game, too. Failure is not an option. So forget the shortcake and open wide, sweetie pie. You're about to get a mouthful of consequences... and broccoli.