I had a perfectly lovely, sweet little girl living with us until she started to walk.
Then she turned into a monster.
For four and a half years before that, I had what I had longed for, what all mother’s-to-be hope for—an easy, happy, cooperative, snuggly little boy—and I felt like the best mother in the world. Then Molly was born.
I felt like sweet baby Molly had been abducted and in her place dropped in this alien child I had no idea how to handle. She suddenly screamed and fought. She didn’t want to do anything, and she certainly didn’t want to do what I wanted her to do. Everything I tried was wrong. I felt like my best-parent-in-the-world medal had been ripped from around my neck.
Molly and I screamed at each other, sometimes from opposite sides of a door I was holding closed. We were in power struggles daily. (Confession: I was a parent educator and recent Masters degree recipient in Early Childhood Development.) What was wrong with this picture?
We all know how much easier it