I Do It Too

I can predict with uncanny accuracy what she will say. Because it is almost always one of two things:

"Me too! Me too!"
or
"I do it. I DO IT!"

It must be yelled said at least twice. That is her rule, and she is a rule follower. At least when it comes to her OWN rules.

See, there she is on her bike, looking back to make sure I'm not touching the handle. Because if there's one thing she cannot abide, it's help. One push and you've pushed THE button. The one that throws her right into a stomping rage.
This might be the time in my life when I'm supposed to be learning patience. Perhaps if I learn we can start getting to the park at speeds above 0.002 miles per hour.

Not too deep down, I know I'm a toddler too. I'm independent when I shouldn't be. I whine under my breath. I demand my way, though I've learned to wrap it in subtlety. I cry entitled for more than what's mine to have. I sulk when I feel left out. I indulge in reeses cups unchecked like a grubby-handed, booger-nosed two year old.

So when it comes time to be patient with the actual toddler, the one whose behavior is age appropriate, you'd think I'd be a bit more understanding.

All I can say is, me too. Me too!