A Day in the Life of Avery

These days I never can be certain on which side of the bed Avery will wake up. On a good morning I wake up to the sweet sunshine of toddler kisses, and the quiet crunching of the apple she got herself as she cuddles at my feet watching Dora the Explorer. She gives me time to get her cereal. She joins me for my morning stretches. She disposes of her own bedtime diaper and dresses herself (always in her favorite orange skirt). She plays Barbies in a singsong voice. On a good day she will happily put away the dishes for a couple marshmallows. She is happy, independent, and generous with her affections. On a good day she truly is my angel.

But the last few mornings have not been good mornings. I have been waking up to noises that no human child should be able to make with Avery standing in my doorway wrapped in her blanky, hair wild as a pet monkey, brows knit, lips puckered, shooting flames of displeasure from her eyes.

“You wanna watch Dora honey?” “NOOOO!” “How about a nice crunchy apple?” “NOOOO!” “Ba-na–na?” “NOOO!” “Cereal?” “Pancakes?” “Maybe some brimstone? Or my soul? How does that sound pumpkin?” What does one feed an angry devil-monkey? On a bad morning there is no pleasing her. She doesn’t want to say the prayer, but gnashes her sharp baby teeth if anyone else does. She will not get in the bath, she will not get out of the bath. She weeps over her princess panties. Putting her into her car seat causes her to speak in tongues. Today was one of those days. But it gets better. Today was also grocery-shopping day. I seriously considered staying home, but in the end my desire for a dill pickles and cream cheese won out. Huge mistake.

As soon as we entered Smith’s lobby, the red box caught Avery’s eye. “Come on babe, stay with me!” She stood statue still, slowly turning her head to give me the stink eye. “We can rent The Highlander later if you’re nice. Come on!” But she did not come on. Every five minutes she would wander off, or start a fight with Brook. At one point she threatened to “spank my bum” if I failed to buy her chocolate chip granola bars. “You’re NAUGHTY!” She cried on the way through check out. She threw her head back and screamed and flailed about “NAUGHTY MOMMY! NAUGHTY!” “You’re very patient”, the cashier commented, looking a little frazzled herself. I forced a smile. Funny how losing the will to live and patience can look so similar. She kicked and screamed all the way to the car, all the way home, and all the way into a much needed time-out.

On bad days like this I question my parenting skills (as I rub my nine-month pregnant belly). But I know this too shall pass. The bad days and the good days too. Avery won’t be two-and-a-half forever. Today I am grateful for that. But then there are those good days…