What the hell has happened?

It's been over 6 months since my last post, which might as well be a lifetime in parenthood.

When 2015 hit, I had grand delusions that I would return to blogging and force myself to write at least once a week to capture the precious and panicked moments that are now my life. But that didn't really happen. So here we are, several weeks later, with an endless supply of updates that should be told.

I could write about how Ava began walking at 13 months, how she LOVES going to the park, how she can now sit through a solid 45 minutes of "Frozen," how she is obsessed with Itsy Bitsy Spider and Wheels on the Bus (complete with dancing and hand motions), how she has enough hair for pigtails, how she tries to put on her own shoes and socks, how she shoos the dogs out of the kitchen during dinner ("uh uh uh! uh uh uh!"), how she hugs Rocco all the time, how she yells what we *think* is "XBOX ON!" when she sees the TV in our bedroom, how she is learning to share with her friends at daycare, how freakin joyfully she greets me when I pick her up after work, how she runs nearly everywhere, how she is binky-free during the day, how she can identify so many animals...

I could tell you all of this. But instead, I'm going to tell you about how someday not long ago, someone swapped out my awesome, sweet, happy-all-the-time infant and replaced her with a bat-shit crazy toddler whose mood swings are so epic, I can't even keep up.

WHAT HAPPENED? I feel like my head is just constantly spinning.

Take tonight, for example.

Ava was being her normal self, running around the house when Dave began to get dinner ready. We gave her milk, she helped turn on the microwave for her carrots, she happily took her medicine (double ear infection for the second time in as many months) and she was playing with her new "Frozen" gifts from Great Aunt Nancy. Then she decided to flip the switch.

For seemingly no reason, her mood plummeted. She didn't want to eat. She didn't want carrots. She didn't want anything. Or anyone. Dave put her in her chair, and she screamed. He put food in front of her, and she violently pushed it away. He gave her the milk again, and she threw it on the floor. The tears and the yelling kept getting worse.

I took a 5 min. break, and when I came back, she was still crying and pissed while Dave was holding her. She reached for me when I came back in the kitchen, then immediately wanted down. Then started crying worse because I actually put her down. Fun!

So, I sat on the floor and let her freak out. She didn't want me near her and she needed to get this out of her system. As her cries began to lessen, I thought it would be safe to make eye contact. I was sorely mistaken.

As soon as I looked at her, she screamed way worse than before. It was like, "HOW DARE YOU CAST YOUR EYES UPON ME! THIS HAS RUINED MY LIFE! FOREVER!"

Ugh, FINE! I will avert my eyes!

That seemed to calm her down a bit. After a few minutes, she pointed to her chair and said, "Help." I froze.

Is... is this a trick? I don't know what to do.

I tried to be super nonchalant about it. I stood, scooped her up and put her in the chair. I gave her a fork and then immediately began doing the dishes, which I believed to be the least offensive action I could take. Not even five minutes later, I heard it...

A giggle.

A giggle?

A fucking giggle.

She had poured her blueberries on the table and found this hilarious. I looked over at her and we made eye contact. I braced myself for another meltdown, but instead, she looked directly into my eyes and laughed. It was cute, in a maniacal kind of way.

The rest of dinner was totally uneventful. She ate all of her squash, most of her chicken and a few carrots. Polished off her strawberries, like 5 blueberries and half a graham cracker. None of it intentionally thrown on the floor in a fit of rage.

Bath and bedtime were also peaceful. Ava didn't even try to catapult herself out of the crib tonight, like she tried to do last night. (That a whole another blog.)

And here I am. Again, head spinning. I don't even know what happened. A few nights ago was exactly like this. Like I said before, I can't keep up.

All I hear about is about age 3 is a million times worse than age 2, but all I can think is, "Do you mean 18 months is worse than everything else and you'll survive it and don't hook of an IV of wine quite yet because it really won't get more absurd than this? Is that what you mean?"

Apparently it's not. This insanity is still the calm before the storm.

Please pray.