A few days ago, Lillia woke up from what must have been a horrible nightmare at 4:30 in the morning. She was screaming and yelling for daddy so hysterically that I ran down to her bedroom in a panic. I rocked her and sang to her while she continued to snivel for several minutes. When I tried to put her back in her bed, she wrapped her arms and legs around me and clung for dear life.
So I got down on the floor, grabbed a blanket, and tried to get the both of us another hour or so of sleep. But it was freezing. So when she started drifting back to sleep, I put Lillia in her crib and then crawled back into bed to warm up for a few minutes before my alarm went off.
The next morning (luckily after I was already up and showered) I heard her sobbing over the monitor again. This time, she was crying "I want an apple! I want an apple!" Probably not a nightmare, I thought. But she sounded pretty upset so I went and got her out of bed. After I changed her, we went to the fridge.
"Do you want this apple?" I asked, holding one out to her.
"No want it, apple!" she snapped.
OK. "Do you want an orange?"
"Noooo!" she screamed.
"How about some grapes?"
"No grapes!" She was starting to whine.
"Well, what do you want to eat, honey?"
She surveyed the contents of our refrigerator, then smiled.
"I want cake," she said.
Two. Definitely two years old.
