I love my daughters, I do.  I love them all the time, no matter what.  But, lately, their little “personality disorders” are driving me up the proverbial wall and making me crazy – er and unstable.

The Baby

Megan, at the ripe old age of 16 months, has figured out that mommy comes running when she cries. So she cries, wails, screams, and screeches as often as she can. All day.  Every day.  It is her favorite form of communication.

She has now decided that if mommy is up at night dealing with the other two, she might as well vacate her title as “best sleeper” and join the party. Usually for hours at a time.  Last night it was 1:30 to 3:30.  AM.  She laughs every time we blame teething.

And if she sees a toy and wants it, which is always when her sisters have one, she grabs it and hangs on for dear life, screaming at the top of her lungs until I intervene.  My reward is a flat on the belly tantrum when I tell her she can’t have it.

Poor baby.

The Diva

Sarah may have been early at walking, talking, and peeing on the potty, but she is late on the terrible two’s.  Lord, is she late.  It is as if she saved up so she could give them her all.  She has succeeded.  Everything is a fight.  From getting dressed to staying dressed, what she wants to eat and drink, going in and outside, it is all a knock down, drag out fight.

She now runs whenever she is in trouble.  If I even mention time out, it’s a race around the house to catch her.  And if I stay put and wait for her, she hides.  If I do catch her, she goes limp, thus causing me to drag her to time out.

Talk about a drama queen.  Sarah takes Diva to a whole new level.  If I tell her “no” – full on tantrum.  If her sister tells her “no” – full on tantrum.  If my husband tells her “no” – well, you get the picture.  If I tell her can’t have something, can’t eat something, can’t watch something, or can have something better than what she wanted – full on tantrum.  And if I hear, “But I though I was gunna do it” one more time, I am calling the military school and enrolling her!

Poor Diva.

The Teenager

Katie is four….  going on fourteen.  She is moody, sassy, overly dramatic, and way too smart for her britches!  She argues about every.little.thing.  If I ask her to clean her room, somethings she used to love to do, she sits on the couch and sulks!  SULKS!  She’s FOUR!

Sassiness could be her middle name.  She has a retort and excuse for everything.  Today I told her to stop biting her nails – really glad she picked that habit up – and she told me she could do it because I do it.  Um…  And then later, I must have been picking at them and she said, all grown up like, “Mooon, I thought you were not sposed to bite your nails.”  If this is what I have to look forward to, Lord, please at least give me another 6 years to prepare!

She has picked up annoying, condescending, repetition.  Whatever I say, she repeats in a “nah nah ne booboo” voice.  She actually pops her hip out, curls her lip, and does it.  I do not know where she gets this but she also does it to her sisters.  If Sarah has something and Katie decides to snatch it, thus creating the Diva tantrum, Katie actually acts out what Sarah is doing, which, of course, upsets Sarah even more.

If this keeps up, she will be headed to boarding school.

Poor Teenager.

Add all of these issues together and it is a wonder we even survive the day.  Some evenings, I wonder if I just made it all up because no one can have that much drama in a 24 hours period.  It is just not possible.  I guess I’ll just hide here, in my little blog world, dreaming of the day when one of them actually hits the sweet spot of being normal.

I’ll let you know when that is.  Don’t hold your breathe.