She's the boss!
Everything out of Diana's mouth is a command. There are the sweet ones: "Sit down, Mummy. Come in bath, Mummy. Lie down, Mummy. Get book, Mummy. Give me pretty (any piece of jewellery), Mummy." She even tries to get Bolshy to sit - in vain, of course. He is so committed to refusing to obey any commands that even a persistent toddler - who will repeat herself 10, 15, 30 times - has no effect on him.
Then there are the rather rude ones: 'MOVE!' Diana yells, plowing into Bolshy or running over my foot with her doll's buggy. 'MINE!' she'll scream at the top of her lungs if any toddler or adult tries to so much as glance at her overstuffed handbag or tacky plastic jewelled ring.
Another favourite? Stomping a foot, thrusting out her index finger and shouting: 'NO, Mummy, NO!' This is particularly amusing (terrifying?) when I haven't asked her to do anything, but she is just disagreeing with my mere presence. Note: She (irritatingly) will never do this to Daddy, something he enjoys a little too much and at one point, he was even trying to train her to say, 'Yes, Daddy, No, Mummy.' Times like that make me wonder why I bothered getting pregnant when I already have two toddlers under my roof.
The bossiness is somewhat mollified by D's cute 'Thank you,' which tends to follow any bidding I do for her, but unfortunately, she still seems stymied by the word 'Please.' She mostly chooses not to bother with it and when she does, her pronunciation has it sounding more like the rather unfortunate: 'Pee!'
This bossiness has been developing for some time, but it's in the past couple of weeks that she's been particularly despotic; almost as if turning the grand old age of two has given her the added confidence needed to boss everyone around.
I've tried to describe D's current personality to people as 'bossy, but in a cute way,' but I think I'm just trying to make myself feel better about the fact that we're on about 22 books a night (And I'm reading all of them to her. At least 10 are variations on The Three Little Pigs, because when D isn't asking for milk or cake for breakfast, lunch, snacks and dinner, she's begging for 'big, bad wolf' and I can't handle reading the original anymore).
My current latest crisis is that D spent an afternoon play date wearing her five-year-old friend's flip-flops and now asks me for flip-flops an average of two times per hour, accompanied with a head nod which looks innocent but roughly translates to: 'Get these for me now or else!' Then, hours later, or the next day, when I think she's forgotten about them and is deeply engrossed in something else, she'll suddenly look up and ask: 'Flip-flops? Flip-flops?'
I wish I could say I'm not under the thumb of this Thumbelina, but I so obviously am. The only reason D isn't in possession of any flip-flops yet isn't because I've taken a stand against this latest impulse, but because every children's shoe store I've gone into seems to have already shifted to autumn/winter stock and there are no flip-flops left.