She's the Worst

I say it a lot. "She's the worst," I mutter as I pick up pieces of torn books.

"She's the worst," I sigh when I watch her scream and cry, struggling to empty every kitchen drawer.

"She's the worst!" I wince after she throws her cup of milk on my head from the top of the stairs.

She gets into my makeup and dumps out my powder. She gets the garbage from the bathroom and pours it on a bedroom floor. She eats anything she can find on the floor. She hits. She screams. She throws a fit when she doesn't get her way.

She's the worst.

I can't help being amused by how horrible she is. I like that she has the confidence to not worry if people are mad at her. She is driven and determined. I've always known she was my little warrior.

She's even calming down a bit as she gets older. She's learning how to share. She sits quietly at her chair when we eat dinner. She gives us kisses and hugs without us asking for them. She brings me things she isn't supposed to have. She likes to sit in her room and read books. She waits in her crib in the morning, patiently paging through books, until I go in to get her. She's signing several words and saying new ones every day. She gets her own blanket and tells me when she wants to take a nap. She plays peek-a-boo and laughs, laughs, laughs!

Matilda is a monster but seems to be slowly changing into a sweet little girl. Right now she is the worst - and I am enjoying it as long as I can.