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It happened in one day. My daughter went from an enchanting and glorious two-year old to a bipolar on a binge. I didn’t know it would happen this way. She was so…compliant prior to this, tender as a bean sprout, sweet as a honeydew melon on a hot summer day. Really. I felt sorry for the other mothers that had to drag screaming children away from the cereal aisle, boxes of Captain Crunch singing like sirens at a pitch only toddlers can hear.

But it’s happened. My daughter has gone to the dark side. Overnight. And yes, I know it’s developmental. I know that the episodes of hysteria and floor rolling, the throwing of plates and shoving her brother around are simply gnarled neural bushes growing at an uncontrolled rate in her brain. I know that I am the adult and should not have the impulse to throw her up against the wall like a pissed mafia boss, but today she tempted me. I saw the duct tape. I imagined her immobile and unable to ask for the 25th time to watch Jungle Book. I wanted to pinch her in her perfectly round bottom and tell her to go the F**k to sleep.

This should be in all parenting manuals: Toddler brain’s are an accelerating neural mass with hysterical velocity – expect their universes to explode at any moment. And take your Valerian. Lots of it.