In a household of six, two adults and four kids, Brynn, the two-year-old, hands down, rules the roost. I have never known anyone quite like her. She is a character, and smart as a whip. You can’t help but laugh at some of her antics. When she was little, she would sit in the corner of the couch, playing with her little purse, dropping toys in and out, in and out, very content. I think Michelle and Troy were a little relieved that they had a nice, quiet baby that didn’t cause any trouble. The two older ones were usually fighting like cats and dogs. Not his sweet, little thing.
I think the first inkling that things would be changing is when she started crawling. I wouldn’t exactly call it crawling. She would get up on her knees and go. Hands would be by her side, not on the floor like most babies. It was the funniest thing to watch. She could whip across the room, on her knees, quicker than toddlers could run. She continued like that until she learned to walk. I still see her doing the knee walk on rare occasions.
Brynn began talking fairly early. Her mother understood her, but no one else could. I am proud to say that I now belong to the club that can translate “Brynn” talk. The other night, she wanted to stay at my father’s house, and had tucked herself into one bed, then another. I have a feeling that her mother said that she would have to ask Papa because I saw her go up to my father and just stare at him. She was trying not to cry, trying to hold the tears back. She then cried out in Brynn talk, “No say NO!” Michelle had to translate to my father that she was demanding that he not say no to the question she was about to ask. He looked at Brynn and asked her what she wanted. She again had to calm herself, willing the tears away, and say, as sweetly as possible, “My sleep Papa’s bed.” He slowly began shaking his head, and Brynn could no longer hold back the tears. She kept repeating, louder and louder, “My sleep Papa’s bed.” Our hearts broke. She was devastated. Overtired, but devastated.
This all happened, of course, because she finally figured out that Matthew and Casey spend many weekends with me, and decided enough was enough. She wanted in on the action too. Every time she comes to my house now, she climbs into my bed and wants to sleep in Ahma’s bed. I did let her stay, thinking that maybe she was ready, maybe I was ready. I found out that she was more than ready, but I am not even close. By 1:30 a.m., Brynn was still awake, on her fifth diaper because she kept peeling them off, and driving me crazy. I think I must have dozed off before the fifth diaper came off, because I heard her crying (she had decided to sleep in HER room, the spare bedroom). I got up, only to find her holding a diaper that was not just wet, but had signs of something else in it. She was nice enough to throw the remains in the toilet. I’m not sure how, but I scrubbed her hands before tucking her in next to me.
I spend more time at their house now to avoid the inevitable tears when I tell Brynn I have school in the morning, like that really matters to a two-year-old that just figured out the system.