They say a child knows when they've pushed you to the edge. They say a child can sense when you are about to break. They say a child will reign in their bad behavior right about the time you want to sell them to the highest bidder. Or the lowest bidder. Or the person who didn't bid at all, but just turned their back long enough for you to drop the kid off and run, giggling like a supervillain, in the other direction.
Brigid should be feeling all sorts of things right now, then, is all I'm saying.
The bedtime wars reached comical levels last night, when Steve came in to tell me that Brigid claimed she would finally go to sleep, after fighting it for an hour and a half, as long as she could give me another hug goodnight first.
Suckers that we are, we fell for it.
And I went in to give her a hug, and she grabbed my hand, and she wrapped herself around my arm, and she refused to let me go when it came time to go to sleep, and Steve and I just laughed.
Because really, what other option is there when your kid is an evil genius?
Just so you know, I'm accepting bids for her in the form of Christmas cookies, now...
Matt and I end up laughing at the evil genius things Elizabeth comes up with too. My favorite bedtime one has always been the time that she leaned over right in front of me and spit in her crib and then told me her sheets were wet and I had to change them.
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