The big-girl cup

This is the second consecutive day that Lyla has not suffered a bite at daycare. Would you like to slow-clap with me?

Clap.




Clap.

In other news, Julie and I are always on the lookout for arbitrary ways to piss off our daughter under the guise of character building. Enter the big-girl cup.

In truth, all the other kids in her class use them, and we don't know what the trend will be at her new daycare mid-June. It's like, you might as well learn to drive a stick shift even if you suspect an automatic will always be available.

We're making a coordinated effort with her teachers. Even the dumb one is on board despite the fact that she probably drinks from a sippy cup herself. (That was mean.) So after Lyla clumsily drank from a big-girl cup all day at school, she sat in the backseat of my car and ate a dry, crumbly ca-ca, and the whole way home daydreamed about the sippy cup full of cold, wonderful milk that she would be allowed to chug immediately upon arriving home.

Once in the front door, she bolted to the kitchen and slid into the fridge like it was home-plate. "Mih!"

When I tried to hand her that big-girl cup of milk, she threw a fit unlike any in her life. There was foot stomping, screaming, and sobbing. She threw herself into my arms, then pushed me away, and then threw herself at me again. At one point she lay face-first on the floor. It was one of the most hilarious things I've ever seen.

I kept a straight face and validated her emotions. "Lyla is mad. Mad mad mad! Dada wants Lyla to use the big-girl cup, and that makes Lyla very, very MAD." See, I don't want her to become a biter, and some kids become biters when they feel like they can't express their frustrations.

The turning point came when I began to drink that nasty whole milk out of the big-girl cup. I sat on the kitchen floor and sipped, and after each sip smiled broadly and said "Ahh" like it was a Gatorade commercial. And it worked. She motioned for the cup, brought it to her mouth, tipped it back, and, for reasons that are only clear to her and perhaps God, began to chew the cup's rim as milk dribbled all over her.

"Sweet victory!" I shouted as I wiped her off.

Fast-forward to dinner.


I decided Lyla would benefit from her father modeling more big-girl cup best practices.





She'll get there. Meantime, every night is bath night.