On Toddlers & Chutzpah

On Saturday afternoon, at my grandmother's birthday celebration, Gretchen grabbed her third cookie off of the buffet table, and I took it away.

"No, no, sweetie. You can have a strawberry, or this piece of cheese, or this melon."

Cute flailing baby meltdown.

We'd been there a few hours, and she'd been snacking her way around the table the entire time, and really didn't need to eat her third (although sugar-free) cookie, and so I put it back on the tray. We left the kitchen, Screamy McGee trying out her best circus maneuvers to escape my grasp, and I brought her to an empty bedroom to chill out (away from the darty-eyed glances of my grandmother's friends). Gretchen threw herself on the ground a little, I sat on the carpet beside her and told her, "It's ok to feel like this. I know you're frustrated." Eventually she calmed down and we had a snuggle. She told me she was "sowwy" and gave me a kiss. And after I made her promise not to scream anymore, we opened the door to rejoin the shindig.

Gretchen ran ahead into the living room and I made a detour to the kitchen for a much needed cup of coffee. And as I sipped, I leaned against the fridge, happy with how I'd handled things. So proud of my little girl.

And then she walked up to me, happily munching on that same third cookie. Smiling the biggest smile.

And I just smiled back, and kept on sipping.