It’s rainy and cold here this week. We’re stuck indoors, and That Baby is the PICTURE of bored. She is bored out of her skull. She is bored like a bored thing that is really, really bored.

So this morning, I just couldn’t stand it anymore. We went to the mall.

We’re lucky in that we have a really good mall about 2 minutes’ drive from here. On warmer days, we could walk, and it’s only about 20 minutes’ walk. But since it’s cold and rainy, we opted for the drive.

I packed a diaper bag with diapers and a change of clothes and a sippy and some toys, and off we went. I wasn’t entirely sure what we’d do there, but Stinkerbelle needed new shoes so I thought that might be something. But beyond that, since BDH and I have started another 100 Day exercise challenge, I’d get in my exercise walking around the mall.

We strollered into the mall, and it was nice and quiet. A few older folks, some young women, and a whole lot of stroller moms. I guess I was not the only one feeling housebound with her kid today.

We stopped in and got some shoes at the kids’ clothing stores. Some sandals at Oshkosh, some runners and water shoes at Children’s Place… and dancing with the staff at Children’s Place. (Yeah. My kid’s got the rhythm in her. She can’t stop it.) So that was good — I got something done, quickly and easily. Already the morning was a success.

But beyond that, it was all about the walking. Up and down the hallways, around into other wings, up, down… it’s a decent walk. I know it’s a popular indoor walking destination in winter (but one that we hadn’t taken advantage of yet).

I let Stinkerbelle out to get some exercise, too. She needed to get her ya-yas out something fierce. So I watched and followed along as she marched, and trotted, and danced, and babbled and waved at strangers, and just generally had some fun. She was a bit loud — she’s big on cheerful, boisterous self-expression — but nobody seemed to mind this morning.

And she has a tendency to run headlong into a store and start boogie-ing it up between the displays if she hears a tune she loves — so I am sure the folks at the lingerie store and the mens’ clothing place got a kick out of her, too.

That Baby loves the wide open spaces in the mall, the different coloured tiles on the floor, the skylights and high ceilings. She pointed to everything, and explored everywhere. But after about an hour, she was getting bored.

So I decided it was time to go upstairs and check out the Early Years Centre.

I don’t know if other places have programs like the Ontario Early Years Centres, but doG love our gub’mint for coming up with the idea. They have drop-in programs where kids up to the age of six can go with their parents or caregivers and just play, and they have registered programs for playing, learning and special needs as well. All free of charge. We had never been before, other than to peek in and see what was what, but many of our friends had been to their local OEYC and loved them.

We went in and the foyer was FULL of strollers. So there was a ringing endorsement. And the staffers who met us were welcoming and pleasant. There was a drop-in playtime today until 1 pm, so we filled in our initial registration for the Centre and in we went.

Stinkerbelle was ENCHANTED. There was a WHOLE ROOM full of TOYS. There were KIDS, mostly babies, but still. KIDS. We went through the door and she was OFF. She immediately sat down with two younger babies, and stole one of their balls.

Whoops. Not a great first impression, there, Kid.

But I headed her off before there were tears, and redirected her to a toy I thought she would LOVE: a ball yard. It was a soft swimming-pool-like contraption full of plastic balls. I plonked her in.

If there’s one toy That Baby loves above all others, it’s a ball. So, to be in a bin FULL of them?

She was in HEAVEN.

Stinkerbelle played in that bin for the ENTIRE time we were at the Centre. Kids came and played with her, one by one, until it was a swimming pool full of under-2s. And even as they then drifted off to try other toys, there she sat, buried in balls, and as happy as a pig in poop.

I tried to take her to play with another toy once. She wailed a huge WAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH of sorrow and heartbreak.

I put her back.

Eventually, it was lunchtime, time to leave. Oh the tears! Oh the sadness! Oh the wailing!

The Early Years Centre was a hit. I could tell.

We packed up and came home, but That Baby was miserable through lunch. She was EXHAUSTED from all the dancing and the walking and the playing. I put her down for her nap, and there was barely a peep for two hours. And she woke up happy and ready to go again.

What started as a lousy, cold, boring day turned out to be a fun-filled morning for Stinkerbelle and a productive and pleasant one for me. I guess you can’t ask for much more on an average day.

And now that we know… We’re pencilling in a regular playtime at the mall.

Somebody, when we were not looking, threw the Two Toggle on us. Our daughter is suddenly TWO. IN ALL ITS GLORY.

It was bound to happen. Although her birthday was back in April, we were kind of hoping against hope that maybe it would just pass us by… but nope. She’s two. And doing all the two things that two-year-olds do the world over.

Most of it of a WEENIE nature.

For example, she has discovered a keenly developed sense of IGNORE. As in, we have to shout her name repeatedly for her to acknowledge our presence. We know she has great hearing — she can hear the bubbles container being opened from across the room, and can hear the front door opening from miles away — and yet, when we are trying to get her to listen to us, answer a question, do something… suddenly and without prior warning, she is DEAF. Well, possibly not deaf — more like LISTENING-IMPAIRED.

Good thing we did all the sign language with her, right? I KNOW.

She also has discovered a very dramatic streak. It rears its head when we, the MEANEST PARENTS IN THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE, wish to impose our will upon her. You know, with things like (are you sitting down?) CHANGING HER STINKY POOPY DIAPER. In the middle of PLAYTIME.

I know. It’s a wonder nobody has called Child Protective Services on us.

Changing her diaper when she is playing, bringing her in from outdoors, basically any change she has not approved previously with the appropriate forms completed and signed in triplicate, are met with a WAIL of faux-sorrow. A giant WAAAAAAAAAAH of angst.

Emo Baby is emo.

Mind you, there are rarely any tears. Just the WAAAAAAAAAAH of discontent.

Whatever. I am not falling for it, lady.

Going to bed is also becoming an issue. It seems that Stinkerbelle, despite the yawning and eye-rubbing and signing “sleep” and “bed” and “story”, has suddenly developed a terrible allergy to her bed. We put her in it after all the regular naptime or bedtime routine, and OHHHHHH! THE HUMANITY!!!11!!1!eleventy!!11!

She’s not ready. In theory, mind you, because some nights she’s literally asleep within moments. But not without a good wail of protest.

On nights she doesn’t fall instantly asleep, you wait a couple of minutes, and there will be the most sorrowful crying, sobbing, emanating from her monitor. Now, Stinkerbelle wears a silk bedcap to bed. She LOVESLOVESLOVES her bed cap. It’s a big, fun production to go get it and put it on before she goes to bed. But for some reason, recently, she will take her hat off a few minutes after she goes to bed. And then there’s a cry of real sadness, real sorrow. And we’ll go back into her room, and she will be sobbing REAL TEARS, clutching her hat close like a teddy bear, like her bestest friend EVER.

So we’ll put it back on and tell her to lie down and go to sleep, and tell her to leave her hat on.

And then she’ll take it off and cry again.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

She’s genuinely upset that she’s taken her hat off and can’t get it back on again. To which we always say, “Well, don’t take the damn thing off, then!”

Oh, but that doesn’t work… BECAUSE SHE HAS WHATEVER WE TELL HER ON IGNORE.

And round and round and round we go.

So yes, the inevitable has happened. Although our daughter’s birthday was last month, she has now, suddenly, officially, turned TWO. Somebody threw the switch in her, and she’s the embodiment of two. A year of TWO stretches out before us in a haze of shouted, repeated, ignored commands and dramatic episodes.

Oh well, we can’t complain. At least it isn’t THREE.