PMS

My daughter has PMS. I am sure of it. It has been an affliction that rears its ugly head every morning, every night, and most times in between. She is cranky, impatient, argumentative, whiny, indecisive, combative, resistant, overwhelmed, and lethargic. Now, this is not necessarily an issue as, from time to time, we have all suffered from these ailments, but just not all at once. In the span of five minutes, my daughter will go through this plethora of emotions, in no particular order mind you, leaving both her mother and me baffled as to how to help her. We weren't quite ready for this to happen, as I am sure most parents of little girls aren't. Oh, did I forget to mention the best part? She is not quite three years old.

I came to this PMS conclusion last night when we picked her up from her grandmother's house. Mom and me were both a little tired after a long day. She had not taken a nap at day-care. She kicked some boy in the shin for wanting to sing her a song. She stole another kid's cheese sandwich right of his plate and fed it to the day-care's mascot, a Schnauzer named 'Lucky.' She sat on her nap mat and cried, not able to explain where the nail was that was causing her so much pain. "What is the matter, Peyton?" Rubbing the tears out of her eyes, she stated, mid-cry, "I don't know." I remember hearing that in high school. The only thing missing in Peyton's PMS symptoms is the bloating. She has the irritability down pat. I wonder if they make Midol in a chewable tablet?

When we got home, around 7:30PM, my son had already eaten just before we picked them up. He wanted nothing but bed, so we gave it to him. Peyton wanted juice, but wouldn't drink it when we gave it to her. She wanted to watch a movie, but just not that one we cued up. She was tired but didn't want to sleep. She needed comfort but did not want a hug, kiss or to be held. I searched our junk drawers (yes, plural...we have more than one) to see if the chloroform fairy had answered my prayers. To my dismay, there was none. Memo to the chloroform fairy, I am going to kick your ass. I looked at my wife, with a look that she knew right away was conveying a serious message. If this insanity did not stop, there was going to be someone sleeping in the closet. This look was accompanied by me twirling a roll of duct tape on my fingers. "Bed time," my wife says. Ah hell, might as well have just hit my daughter in the face with a brick. Crying, whaling and tears came willingly, more so than normal. Does a two and half year old ever get the title of queen in any capacity, or is it simply princess? She is quite the drama-something. Peyton fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes,kicking her legs saying, "no bed, no bed, no bedddddddddddd!" My wife picked her up, trying to hold her in her arms as she walked up stairs, Peyton resisting like a hostage in a bed sheet, about ready to be thrown in the trunk of a car. She laid Peyton down, still screaming, and closed her bedroom door. My wife came down after changing her clothes and let out a big sigh and looked at me like her behavior was out of the norm. I said to her, "what?" She replied, "that was weird." What part? All of it was just like yesterday, and the day before.

I can't wait until her hormones kick in and she gets an attitude.