What a pisser

Britt's first three ballet lessons went great. She paid attention, followed instructions, grinned like a maniac, and danced her little butt off. She loved it.

And then there was today.

My first clue was when it was time to go and she was saying, No, no, I can't go to dance cwass! And I was all, WTF?

We went anyway and got there a little bit early; everything was fine until it was time to line up and march into the studio. Britt refused. Her teacher, Miss Meagan, tried to coax her in but it was a no-go.

Oh, and have I mentioned that all the other women there are stylishly dressed and coiffed private-school moms who drive expensive SUVs? And they all know each other? But they've all been really nice to me so it's no biggie, except that they got to witness the most humiliating day I've experienced in a while.

They said, Oh, just let her watch through the window and maybe she'll want to go on in when she sees the other girls dancing. So we tried that, and she watched and started dancing and hopping around a little bit so I told her she could go join them and she was all, No, no, and then she'd go over and open the door a crack and peek in and then she'd run back over to the window.

Finally, she opened the door and went into the studio. Where she proceeded to run about wildly. And then she'd come back to the door and peek out and laugh and yell Hi! and run off again. This went on for several unbearable minutes before I finally managed to catch hold of her and I dragged her off to the dressing room to get her dressed so we could get the hell out of there and of course she started thrashing and wailing at top volume.

So I sat in the dressing room with 40 pounds of thrashing, wailing Thwarted Will on my lap, trying to wrestle her out of her leotard and tights so I could get street clothes on her, and guess what happened next?

Go on, guess.

You'll never guess.

She peed on me.

She's not supposed to wear anything under her tights, you know, and I was about sixty seconds from getting a pull-up on her when she peed on me, leaving my jeans sopping wet. With big, dark, un-missable wet spots on both legs.

So I finished getting her dressed and then I did the Walk of Shame past all the stylish private-school moms, carrying the still-thrashing and wailing Britt while trying to hide the big, dark, un-missable wet spots with her gear bag and my purse (and coming up one arm short), and I was all, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, and they were all, No, no, it's all right, I feel sorry for you, and I was all, Great, thanks, now I'm an object of pity.

I don't know what got into her today, except that her behavior lately is... well, it's like a battle of wills over every damn thing. A constant power struggle. She's so strong-willed, hard-headed, and stubborn. And bossy.

(***sigh***)

You know, the Twos weren't really that Terrible with her, but I have a feeling the Threes are gonna be the Shits.