Ah, eighteen months. Incidentally I believe this was also the same age as Lucifer when he was kicked out of heaven and started working on his fiery underground empire.
Between my hormones and Ellie's unwavering campaign to be Queen Master Ruler In Charge Of Everything Mayer the pressure in our house has escalated to the point that our windows might blow out.
We've basically been in a fight since Thursday morning when (oh my god worst thing ever!) I tried to put a clip in her hair because her bangs are in her eyes and she looks like WT. Big time WT.
It's really my fault because I'm about two weeks overdue on having her bangs cut. And by that I mean spending ten dollars on a thirty second hair cut. Oh what's that? Why don't I just do it myself? Well, friend, let me tell you a little bit about what is involved in cutting this girl's bangs.
First of all, you need four people. One to hold her down (usually me) one to hold her head, a priest to throw holy water on her to wet the hair and one to actually cut the bangs fast as lightning before she breaks free and scampers out the door like some sort of creature of the night.
So you can imagine how much fun it is to try to put a clip in her hair. We wrestled for fifteen minutes before I actually attached it to ONE piece of hair and even though it was crooked and hanging down in her eye I raced into the bathroom to show her how pretty it was.
She yanked it out, threw it on the floor and spit on it. I'm telling you - fiery underground empire is right around the corner.
I thought I could take the control back by strong arming her but this little 27-pound mighty mite is freakishly strong when she wants to be and we wrestled for thirty more minutes before I finally decided that if she wants to look like WT then she can be my guest. That makes me WT Mom but whatever.
Since then we've been having an unending battle of wills and Nick has been playing referee.
So I was forced to play the trump card.
She's finally been sleeping pretty good though the night. Unfortunately anyone within a two-mile radius has not. The girl grunts and farts like nobody's business all the live long night and it's impossible to get any rest.
So on Saturday I decided she was ready for her new room. That she'll be sharing with Ellie.
As Nick and I wheeled the co-sleeper into the room filled with this grunting, farting mess of a baby Ellie just peered over her crib railing, wide eyed and confused.
Sister, you mess with the bull you get the horns. Nighty night.