I love the word strop, I just don't like to be exposed to it or experience it. For all my fellow Americans, a strop is essentially a mini tantrum. I had hoped not to write about strops too often on this blog but hope springs eternal.
Over the last several days my forever spirited LLC has ramped up her bellow to a full on strop when she doesn’t get her way. She wants everything electronic. If I’m on the phone she wants to hold it and if denied the arm flapping commences. She starts to loudly grunt and moan when I try to convince her that banging on the keyboard while skyping with grandma and Aunt M isn’t wise. She really turns on the waterworks when I remove a piece of Rico’s food from her mouth.
She’s so quick now too. She doesn’t walk but she crawls like lightening and can quickly get to wherever she is not supposed to be within a matter of seconds. I feel like I can’t turn my back for too long, or else she’ll be dialling China on the mobile I forgot to leave out of reach in one hand while chowing down on Science Plan lamb pebbles with the other.
I’m continuing to explain to her why she’s not allowed to do these things but when the strop is in full swing it can grate on my nerves. Right now we only have a safety gate for our stairs but I think I might need another to occasionally cordon her off in a “safe zone.” Then she won’t be tempted by the dark side and so I can hopefully accomplish something rather than run around like a headless chicken between baby and my kitchen sink full of dirty dishes.