In my mind's eye I pictured heated stand offs with The Poop when she's fourteen years old (where she gets upset about the fact that I still call her The Poop, and I tell her I find it funny, and because the world is a cruel, unfair place, she's just going to have to deal with it).
I did not ever anticipate ROWING (that's the argumentative version of that word - not the athletic one - otherwise what a very different post this would be) with an eleven month old.
Boo has recently decided that she doesn't like the word "no". Anything she isn't allowed to have and anything she isn't allowed to do have become all consumingly desirable. Saying no to the head strong little madam is met with an impressively infuriating sequence of stroppy, obstinate, irritatingly petulant tantrums any teenager worth their salt would be more than proud of.
As she lurches in for the outlawed item, she is greeted with the first firm, unequivocal "no". At which she cracks a wry smile, while looking me dead in the eye, before moving in for her second attempt. It is at this point that I boom, what, in my mind, is a terrifying, foreboding, intimidatingly threatening warning blast of "NOOOOOOOO".
She then laughs and tries to slap my face, before heading back towards the item/action of interest.
I dunno, maybe I'm being unreasonable...
And yet SHE has the audacity to be the one who PRETENDS to cry.