Brush it Off

Had a terrible/fascinating run in with Anonybabe the other night.

I was short on patience at bed time and took it badly when Anonybabe wouldn't let me brush her teeth. She insisted that she'd done it herself (she had) and that she was done. I let her know through gritted teeth why she needed to let me brush them as well, gave her a warning, then held her down on my lap and pinched her nose to force her mouth open so I could brush them.

She was incensed, wailing, humiliated, ego badly bruised. Next I tried to get her to pick up her toys, but she flopped down on her floor cushion, baldly refusing.

"No! You pick them up!" she countered. "I'm the Mama and you're the Anonybabe"

Since we were obviously not getting anywhere by my baldly telling her what to do, I played along.

"Wahahaha!" I cried and stomped my feet. "I don't want to pick up!" Anonybabe grinned slyly.

"Well, you just have to," she said. I cried some more and then succumbed. She told me I had to pick up and then go to sleep in our mud room. She was going to sleep in my writing chair and I was to sleep on the floor. I cried and protested some more, she giggled and insisted, and then informed me that she was going to go sleep in the big bed because she was a big mama. I finally followed her into my bedroom, turned out the light, and let her babble herself to sleep in my bed. I figured it was a small price to pay to let her recover her dignity.