Who are you and what have you done with my daughter?

Lately, Maggie has been like an entirely different person -- and not in a good way. She's usually easy-going and well-behaved, equally content to play by herself or with a playmate (or Mommy), and respectful of our rules and her limits. But this weekend, she took things to -- to use the words of MADtv character Eugene Struthers -- a whole nutha' level. She made completely unreasonable demands and melted down over their lack of fulfillment.

As background, perhaps I should note that I've been intentionally trying to not do so many things for her. It's easy for me to fall into this trap, to do things for her, whether it's because she's an only child or because it's easier/quicker/cleaner for me to do the activity in question. But a while back I read this little tidbit: "Never do things for your child that she can do for herself." And that makes sense. If I'm always doing things for her, A) she'll never learn to do the task itself, and B) she may grow up to lack confidence in herself and her abilities. There are scores of other reasons, I'm sure, but these were my two main reasons for pulling the plug on the constant Mommy-doing. And don't get me wrong -- it's not as if I was waiting on her hand and foot before ... just that many times it's easier/quicker/cleaner if I do the something. You moms know what I'm talking about.

With this new resolve, I no longer carry her up or down the stairs -- she's fully capable of doing this herself. I don't take off her pullup or throw it away, I don't fetch toys that are within her reach, and I try not to dress her (though after 30 minutes of her sitting on the floor naked, sometimes I intervene). I do brush her teeth at night (she handles mornings), and I do supervise bathroom trips, especially #2. :) I'm not an ogre ... I don't make her pour her own milk or do her laundry or cut up her dinner. I always help her when it seems help is truly needed. I just try really hard not do the things I know she can do on her own.

Maggie is not happy about this new arrangement.

Two weekend examples come to mind. She wanted me to get her piggy bank off a shelf in her room. The same shelf that she, just hours before, had pulled her stepstool up to in order to successfully retrieve her jewelry box. The same shelf that she, just minutes before, had climbed the stepstool in order to retrieve a box of hair clips. So I told her no: "You just climbed up there to get your hair clips. You can use the stepstool again to get the piggy bank."

She.
Freaked.
Out.

Cried. Screamed. Kicked. Gasped. Sobbed. Begged. Said please. Screamed some more. Turned red. It got so intense that it worried me ... I was beginning to think she had serious mental problems. When she calmed down enough to ask nicely, I told her I wasn't going to get the pig by myself since she was able, HOWEVER, we could work out a compromise. I would get the pig off the shelf, but she had to come over to me to get it from me -- I wasn't going to bring it to her. After a mini-meltdown, she realized this was the best offer she was going to get, so she agreed. I got the pig down, and she walked over to me. As I held out the pig to her, she extended her open hand to within -- I'm not kidding about this -- 1/4 inch of the pig and then stopped. She refused to actually take hold of it. "Hand it to me, Mommy!" she demanded. Yes, I engaged my 3-year-old in a battle of wills that was, when you boil it down, over a quarter inch of air.

In her anger over the pig situation, she threw down her fuzzy purple blanket. Purple Blanket has become her #2 lovey, after Baby Caca. She takes it almost everywhere, and it provides great comfort in situations like this. When she threw down Purple Blanket, she threw it to her right (I was on her left). The blanket was literally 6 inches from her foot, and she demanded that I get it for her. "Oh, no," was my answer. "Not only are you closer than I am, but YOU threw it down. You can pick it up."

She freaked out again.

I couldn't take it anymore, so I just told her I loved her, and that I was sorry she was so upset, and I'd be in my room if she wanted to calm down and talk about things. The thought of being alone upset her even more ... and after that, it's all blur. I don't even remember how things ended. She's still here and alive obviously, so I didn't kill her, nor did I stick her in a box on the curb marked "Free to a good home." (I can't honestly say that killing her really crossed my mind ... but the box-on-the-curb option sure did.)

Today, she was a little more passive. Instead of demanding various things, she just did what she wanted. Or did things she knew she wasn't supposed to do. She pooped in her panties simply because she said she was too busy playing and didn't want to stop to use the potty. (I'm not a big fan of punishing for potty-related issues, but you better believe she got a timeout after this little revelation.) At dinner, she gargled her milk and then spit some of it into her food bowl. I hope I don't win Bad Parent of the Year for making her eat her food anyway. (When I told her to eat it, Bobby gave me a look that seemed to indicate he thinks this borders on child abuse.) The milk incident and other dinnertime misbehavior were the final nails in the proverbial coffin, and not knowing what else to do, we sent her to bed immediately after dinner. No bath, no stories, just bed.

She was asleep at 7:35. I'm pretty sure she hasn't been asleep at 7:35 since infancy.

Let's hope a good night's sleep cures whatever ails her and brings back my happy, well-behaved child. Though if it doesn't, I take solace in remembering that tomorrow is my mother-in-law's day with her.

... insert diabolical laughter here ...