Tiny Truculence

I never imagined that it was going to happen so quickly. My angelic daughter, Charlotte -- barely two months into her third year -- has already lost all respect for any semblance of authority I may have once fleetingly represented. Her penchant for willful disobedience has blossomed from merely a dabbling fascination into a raging, back-talking pre-occupation. She now lives to push my buttons and flaunt her displays of diminutive defiance in my face with frankly disquieting relish. At the same time, paradoxically, she's effortlessly capable of being the most adorable, soft-spoken child imaginable. I was fully expecting the difficulty to set in around age sixteen or so, when she'd come home from ditching school with a freshly inked tattoo and an ex-con for a boyfriend, but not this early. Could it be that my beautiful little girl is in grave peril of becoming.... a brat?

It's much harder to be a disciplinarian with your children than you think it's going to be. No matter how mad they'll make you (and trust me, new parents and parents-to-be -- they will), they're still the epicenter of your emotional universe, rendering your feeble attempts at punishment moot with their crippling powers of stupefyingly doe-eyed cuteness. Every time Charlotte gleefully disregards a directive (and these are simple requests like "eat your breakfast," "stop jumping on that" and "go to sleep,"....I'm not asking a lot, here), I feel more and more compelled to lower the boom and assume the stentorian-voiced stance of the "Angry Dad," barking out ridiculously cliched things like "that's enough, young lady!" and the old favorite, "WHAT DID I JUST SAY?" It's not so much that these statements are falling on deaf ears (I know she hears them, as she parrots my very same declarations at her little brother, Oliver, albeit in the voice of an agitated chipmunk), it's that they're falling on the ears of someone who clearly ain't buyin' it.

Unsurprisingly, Peggy handles the wielding of the discipline baton way better than I do. While I may lose patience sooner than she does, she delivers the cut-the-crap statements with more bullshit-eviscerating power than I'll ever be able to muster. Hell, when she lays down the law with Charlotte, I get scared. My Missus does not mess around. But Charlotte knows she has me wrapped around her little nostril-exploring finger. I'm trying to be less of a softy pushover, but one doleful glance with those big, glassy brown eyes, and I crumble. It's a skill that will serve her well later in life, but if I don't overcome it now, she's in serious danger of becoming a little monster, albeit a devastatingly charming one. I noted his weblog earlier this week, but on a similar note to this post, please check out MetroDad's open-letter to toddlers. I laughed.

Comments

[rob andristplourde]

Well said, Mr Baldwin.

[Bimble]

Jeez, she sure looks cute, though. And look at those pants! Why, she'd fit in with hip late 60's London, I imagine.

[Bimble]

Does she have sunglasses? I would love to see a picture of her in sunglasses. That would be classic.