Margaret is growing up. Aggressively. Because if I think for one minute that she’s going to tolerate my help on the stairs, I have another think coming.**
This is the look that tells me that there’s another think coming.
And then up she goes!
And then a little sit down before coming down again. Because going up the stairs without help is TIRING.***
And then down she comes.
And then it’s time for another rest. Don’t be fooled by this demure little pose. She looks like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but I can tell you on good authority that it will. Also on her hands, and cheeks.
*Margaret isn’t old enough to know that “myself” is all one word. The world will come crashing down about her ears soon enough without us starting in on her for that, so we just leave it.
**Unless it’s one of those moments where what she wants is for Mommy to CAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRYYYYYY MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. And then this whole “grown up using my own legs” thing is Not. Cool.
***I’m using a lot more block capitals than usual, but in my defense, Margaret is talking in block capitals a lot more than she used to. It’s all part of being two. She had a 10 minute screaming, throwing herself about, weeping, wailing, and tooth-gnashing fit today, because the piece of bread that she was eating had a bite out of it. A bite that she took. And I was supposed to fix it. You know, make there not be a bite out of HER PIECE OF BREAD. But she had eaten the bread. Although she is the only person I’ve met who literally wanted to have her cake and eat it too, although it wasn’t cake.