Charlie looks very angelic for a demon child.
Seriously. She has these big blue eyes, this creamy soft skin, this mischievous little grin...my little ginger baby is adorable if I do say so myself. But good God almighty, that child is hell on wheels. Or rather, hell on tiny size 4 sneakers.
I went to the Children's Museum with my sister-in-law this weekend. After watching Charlie climb up (and almost fall down) a set of stairs, pick up several chairs (and throw one in a fit of rage when it wasn't doing exactly what she wanted it to...), arch her back and throw herself around when I dared to stop her from falling off of a bench, and attempt to climb up the side of the car that they had for kids to pretend to drive, she turned to me and said, "I see now why you call her Char-Rambo."
Charlie is a tank. She knows what she wants and she goes for it with a passion that only a toddler can muster. She sits and concentrates and figures things out and by God, if it does not do what she thinks it should do, her head starts spinning and green vomit comes out her mouth. Kidding! (Well, maybe just a little bit...)
When do we lose that single-minded determination to figure things out? When does the child learn to temper the emotions to more socially acceptable responses, like binge drinking and cage fighting? I wish I knew the exact moment, because I want to tell Charlie to never lose that passion. Learn to control it, to direct it in a positive direction...but to never stop feeling the sting of that chair not doing what the fuck you want it to when you have tried so hard to figure it out.