Tonight was, by far, the worst night we've had in a very long time. It's hard to say what was at the root of her crankiness tonight. She was just fine when I picked her up from day care. She was pleasant and laughing while I was preparing dinner.
Things changed when her daddy got home.
We set the table, and began to lift her into her booster seat, when all Hell broke loose. She threw the biggest fit I've ever seen. She wriggled and wrestled and tried to break free of her father's arms. Then, after she was pushed up to the table, she cried and cried as if we broke her heart. Tim caved. He sat her in his lap for most of dinner. After she calmed down a bit, he tried again, unsuccessfully to put her in her booster seat.
Finally, he put her down and she went and got her big girl chairs. She pulled them both right up to the table and repeated, "Da-Da sit." "Da-Da sit!" "Da-Da sit! Pleeeeeash." He tried to explain that he was eating. He tried to reason with her, "Let Da-Da finish dinner and then he'll sit, okay?" He tried really hard not to see her head thrown back in dispair or hear her relentless wailing. Again, he caved. He stopped eating and sat in the tiny chair next to her. And that, my friends, is when I went upstairs to grab the camera.
It was pitiful.
I took her upstairs and rocked her a bit to calm her down. I sang her a few songs, but nothing really consoled her. Soon, she sat up and said in the most pitiful heart-wrenching voice, "Da-da please." I almost cried. Nothing made her feel better tonight except having her Daddy close to her.
Tim came upstairs, stole her away from my arms and effortlessly rocked her to sleep.
It's hard on a momma. I was the same way though, so I'm not surprised. She is truly Daddy's little girl. She is also, truly about to turn two.