The Cat is Out of the Bag!

Holy Majolie - my worst nightmare has become a reality. As I've mentioned before, my second pregnancy was like the "immaculate conception" - and while I would have been happy with whichever sex God had in mind for me to give life to, I secretly prayed for a girl.


From Loving...

To Catty

I had fantasies of my two little ladies, brushing each others' hair, giggling together over funny cartoons and growing closer as they became young women, and ultimately - relying on one another when they become mothers and wives...

Reality is a funny thing. I'm the type of person who "lives in the moment" - savoring each experience that life throws my way. As Josephine hits the very real "terrible twos" - those savory moments have become more like a melting pot of raw, uncensored emotional outbursts. And while that is part of the growing game, having to endure her older sister's taunting wasn't in my brochure. Enjoyable? Not so much.

While common sense (and my ever present parents next door) tells me to intervene; I sought "real" advice from a child psychologist as I was finding myself constantly aggravated with the shrill screams and tears that turn on faster than a leaky faucet. The psychologist thought I should turn a deaf ear and eye, allowing the two children under five to work out their conflicts "on their own."

So I decided to give it a try. Without fail, the girls began arguing over a toy - typical. I stood my ground firmly in the adjacent living room - where I could hear but couldn't "see." I could hear Sara antagonizing the sweet little two year old with Shirley temple curls. Halfway into "Na-na-na-booo-boo; you can't ca......" I heard a "thunk" and piercing screams erupt from my five year old.

As I rounded the corner in a panic, I thought my eyes were deceiving me. Sara lay crumpled on the ground, screaming incoherently about her eye. Next to Sara was a small, miniature (metal) can of orange juice. As she raised her head up, I could already see the bruise beginning to swell on her cheek.

I turned around and looked at what has always been my sweet, soft spoken little toddler. Here eyes belied her age. I was staring at an angry two year old who'd had it with her tormenting older sister. She then mumbled something like, "Don't do it again Ra-ra!" (she can't enunciate her S's just yet)...So much for my fantasy; not to mention the new age crap the psychologist fed me. The claws are out. It's getting catty.

Put a fork in me...I'm done.