It felt like I was in the wild, wild west. Standing across the room, her dark eyes staring me down. Little hand poised at her hip above her gun, ready to draw. The showdown was about to start. All we needed was the music (dun dun duuuun – you know you’re singing it in your head) and a lonely tumbleweed to blow through the kitchen.

I kept telling myself to hold my ground. Don’t back down. Don’t lose this fight!

For the first time, I was afraid of my own daughter (at least afraid that nothing I could do would work)! How is this possible? She is only 4 years old! Her ability to push and test boundaries is nothing new. So why now? Why, in this moment, did the fear set in? I think it was the cold look in her eyes. That and she never once broke eye contact.

All I did was ask her to pick up a napkin that she had dropped and put it in the trash. It was returned with a level of defiance that I have never seen before. I was seriously waiting for her head to start spinning.

I started to get a little nervous when she didn’t respond to my stern, “NOW!” That’s when the pep talk started in my head. Don’t show fear.

What comes next? Why you start counting of course. 1…no response. 2…she stepped over to the napkin. I started to feel the relief set. It was premature. She kicked the napkin and glared back at me. My internal pep talk turned into obscenities and panic. Holy S**t! What the f**k am I going to do now?

3…she didn’t budge.

By this point, I was boiling. I’m not proud, but I started to scream. I don’t remember exactly what I said because I just boiled over and it all came spewing out. At the same time I was grabbing her hand and forcing her to pick up the napkin and carry it to the trash.

She cracked at this point and started crying, “I want Daddy.” I’m not going to lie, a little part of me enjoyed hearing those words! You see, I’m usually the pushover. Daddy is the disciplinarian. If #3 hadn’t worked, it was likely going to be followed by, “Don’t make me get Daddy.”

When we dropped the napkin into the trash can (I say we because I had to hold her hand closed to get her to carry it),  I felt a huge wave of relief. The battle was over. I was still alive…so was she (somehow)!

Raising a stubborn, moody, difficult child is going to be the death of me. What am I going to do when she becomes a teenager? I need to start drinking now to prepare.