Meg will be exactly 18 months old on Sunday. Her speech is developing rapidly. She adds new words, and perfects her enunciation on old words, daily. She speaks in short phrases. She uses words and gestures to clearly communicate her desires.
And yesterday we had our first real conversation. During this brief, but meaningful dialog, Megan showed that she is paying attention to her brother. And, ahh, that perhaps she inherited a certain parent's stubborn streak.
We were in my parent's family room (aka Den). Meg started to pull on my arm, saying repeatedly "Mama up." I gave in. She led me to the front door.
"Out door. Mama, play?" She flashed me that sweet little innocent baby face.
"No, Megan. It's cold and you don't have your coat," I thought I was safe. Normally that gets me a cute little "Brrr, cowd" retort. Not this time.
She clenched her little fists tight at her side. "I DO!" she said with all the fierceness she could muster.
I was surprised by her reply. "It's not on you. Where is your coat?" I said, knowing it was on the chair behind me buried under two other coats.
Megan scrunched up her nose and gave me that look she's not supposed to be able to do for at least a decade. "Right there! On chair," she said. She stomped her way to the chair and pulled the jackets to the floor. She handed me mine with a simple "Flip-roo" statement.
Flip-roo was her way of telling me to put the coat on. Logan has learned to put his own coat on via the "1-2-flip-ah-roo" method. Lie it on the ground flat, inside facing up, collar at your feet. Slip your arms in the coat part way then lift your arms up over your head and back. The coat will slip on as you do it. Megan has studied her brother intently and has perfected the art form herself. Of course, sometimes she gets that coat on backwards. Once and a while she gets it on upside down - but the point is, it's on, which is exactly where her pink coat was by the time I had recovered from my shock from this conversation. Miss Megan Rose there at the front door with her coat on backwards (zipper at her backbone waiting for me to close it). She gave one final "Out door, peeeeeeeeeeeeeeeese!"
And I, determined not to set the bad precedent of laughing my ass off when I was supposed to be strong, said a quick, "No."
I knew what would come next - another reason for me to bite my tongue - so I fled the room. Sure enough, as I glanced at her on my way back to Logan, I saw her do it - she walked over to the nearest seat, folded her arms as best she could in the backward bulk, flopped her upper half down onto the seat of the chair (head buried in her arms) and pouted over her defeat.
Every. Single. Time. Head on folded arms to pout. Really, wasn't melodrama on the "pre-teen" list?