Isabel has officially turned into a threenager. A little premature, given that she’s not 3 ’til November, but I can think of no other explanation for the epic strops we’ve had over the past fortnight.
Last week we had the Worst Day Ever (oh so worthy of capitals) in which every SINGLE thing was a fight, battle or tantrum from the moment she got up til the moment she went to bed. Ask her if she wanted X or Y, she’d say X, you’d offer X and she’d strop for Y. Precocious and contrary. That was probably the day she learned the words “fuck sake” …
Today’s fun occurred towards the end of a trip to Tesco — because apparently the mutant chicken was not enough to make me want to trek all the way to Sainsbury’s instead — where she decided she wanted a box of Jaffa Cakes. I object to spending £3 odd on a box of half-stale cake topped with a miniscule layer of chocolate so I said no (don’t get me wrong, I like jaffa cakes, just not at that price); I offered the 85p “Everyday Value” knock-offs instead.
The box wasn’t blue enough, unlike the “better ones”, and when I said “it’s those or nothing”, she didn’t actually mean “nothing” even though that’s what she said. Cue the absolute screaming eebie jeebies all the way to the till, as we paid and packed, to the car, strop getting in the car, scream scream scream all the way home. (Oh, the joys of having to strip down her car seat because she was that pissed off she had an accident.)
And this week marks the start of her reduced nursery hours now that I’m working from home. What have I done?!