This One! (Wah!), That One! (Wah!)

Mimi has finally started using two- and three-word phrases.  She's making little requests (More please!), telling us who owns what (Papa's phone.  Mama's car.), and constantly explaining what she's doing (Mimi run!  Mimi car vroom!  Mimi concerned about possible gerrymandering in several battleground states prior to upcoming presidential election!).  With each new phrase, Sumie and I are getting closer to finally having genuine conversations with our little one, in both English and Japanese.  The process is astounding, but there is a downside.  Life with this little girl and her growing vocabulary is not all rainbows and sunshine.

Now that Mimi can communicate her preferences rather clearly, she rarely hesitates to do so.  Unfortunately, these preferences are dictated by toddler logic, which means that most are arbitrary, immediately contradicted, dangerous, or insane.  This morning, Mimi decided to use the phrase "this one" to communicate her unreasonable and ridiculous desires regarding socks. 

The day had started out well.  Mimi woke happy and let me dress her with minimal fuss or protest.  Until it came time for socks.  Upon my uttering "sock," Mimi ran for her sock drawer chanting "Mimi sock!  Mimi sock!" and, naturally, selected the only unmatched sock in the drawer as her pick of the day.  "This one!  This one!" she demanded. 

"Honey," I calmly explained, "we don't have the other sock for that one.  How about these?"

"No.  No!  Nooooo!  This one!  This one!"  was Mimi's reply.  

Mimi ran from me, shrieking at her father's despotic insistence that she wear two socks.  I chased her down and again offered her the matching pair.  "This one?" I asked...

Mimi looked at me and, as I expected, used her phrase.  "No.  This one!"

Clearly, there was no arguing with her.  It would have to be "this one."  So I did what all responsible parents do in such situations.  I pulled a fast one.  "OK, honey," I said,  "we'll use this one!"  Mimi was overjoyed as I took the sock from her hand.  She immediately sat down and raised a leg in triumph, waiting for me to put on the hard-won sock.  I, however, had deviously switched socks on her as she was sitting down, placing the mismatched sock in my pocket (it's still there, actually).  Mimi never noticed the difference.  Evil?  Maybe.  Dishonest?  A little, I guess.  But it got the job done.

The "this one!" morning sock confrontation was gentle sparring compared to the "that one!" battle-to-the-death cage match over diapers that occurred last night.  So gruesome and horrendous was this inexplicable display of toddler willfulness that it could not be filmed or photographed.   

It was 9:00 o'clock and time to change for bed.  Normally this is not an issue.  We strip Mimi down, slip on an overnight diaper, and then zip up her pajamas.  Last night, though, Mimi decided that she didn't want to wear an overnight diaper.  No, she wanted to wear "that one!" a normal diaper that just happened to be there on the floor where we were changing her.  Sumie was changing her and started to struggle.

    "That one!"  screamed Mimi.
    "No, Mimi,"  replied Sumie serenely.  "We need to wear the overnight diaper."
    "That one!  That one!  That one!  Aaaarrrrrr-waaaaahhhh!"
    "Fine, you can wear this..." and then I butted in.
    "No way.  That girl is wearing her overnight diaper.  I'm not waking up to change her halfway through the night simply because she's being silly."

A massive struggle ensued with me, having a nearly 1000% weight advantage on Mimi, eventually getting her into the overnight diaper and pajamas.  The argument, though, did not end there.  Papa hadn't won just yet.  Fully dressed for bed, Mimi ran over to her normal diaper and started chanting "That one!  That one!" while attempting to unbutton her PJs.  The time had come for timeout.

I placed Mimi on her timeout chair, which is the easy chair in the room we were already in, and told her she had to sit there for one minute.  Mimi wailed.  Screams of "that one!" came every ten seconds between gigantic sobs and hitched breaths.  She'd nearly worked herself into hiccups, but still she kept chanting "that one!"  Sumie, always the conscientious mother, had the grace to cover her face as she laughed uncontrollably from the floor.  I felt a bit bad for Mimi but it was, above all else, ridiculously funny.

After a minute had passed, remarkably with Mimi remaining on her chair, she'd calmed down somewhat and joined us on the living room floor.  She still wanted to wear the normal diaper - her murmurs, sniffles, and wary pointing made it obvious - but she'd come to the conclusion that it just wasn't worth fighting anymore.  Exhausted, she was out cold in her crib within five minutes. 

I'm sure that soon we'll move beyond these battles of will and eventually be able to explain to Mimi why we make certain decisions.  Oh God.  She'll constantly be asking us "Why?  Why?"  Maybe that'll be worse!