A blog by Rand Richards Cooper,
on parenting baby Larkin
Girl of Steel
By Christmas we'd had every kind of weather here: two walloping snowstorms; a balmy 60-degree day of respite; a drenching rain; then deep freeze again. Icicles hung from our roof, giant stalactites that let loose in thundering avalanches, waking us in the night with a sense of dread.
That's not all that woke us in the night. Three nights running, circa 2 a.m., Molly and I sat bolt upright in bed as Larkin shouted hysterical complaints from her room. "My pillow is upside-down!" "I want water!" "My blanket is off of me!" One or the other of us would go in, only to find ourselves caught in a whirlwind of rage. And this wasn't just a moonlight tantrum. In recent weeks, life with Larkin has grown full of confrontation — our days spent locked in battles over food, over clothing, over anything and everything. Molly and I ask ourselves, Who abducted our sweet-tempered daughter and installed in her place a warrior, raring for battle?