Those of you who know me will not be surprised to learn that I appear to have bred a stubborn, opinionated, headstrong, determined daughter.
Missy's favourite sentence is "No, self", which roughly translates to "Thank you mummy for your offer to help, but I am quite capability of doing this myself.". This is quite closely followed by an angry "Mummy, help!" as the object of the frustration is hurled across the room.
See, when she's angry, she throws stuff,. Then she storms to her room and slams the door.
This is likely to occur at any time. Like, for example, if we have the audacity to offer grapes, when she wants strawberries, or if she has to wear her birdy pajamas because the doggy ones are in the wash.
She's two. What will she be like when she's 13? The winemaker and I are dreading the hormonal teenage years. While my mum, I'm sure, is quietly chuckling in her tea, muttering "sweet revenge".
But I'm sure I didn't storm off in a huff to my room until at least 8 years old.
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