Elizabeth has been Little Miss Tantrum McFusserton. She pitches fits about EVERYTHING, and we rarely know what her current problem is. Edward took something away from her? She got stuck momentarily? She doesn’t like her outfit?

I don’t think any of our babies have pitched fits in this classical style: the arched back, the slammed-back head, the squeezed-shut eyes, the entire tiny body contributing to the roars of rage. Right now, as we enter the stage, it seems so comical, it just makes me want to squeeze and smooch her more: Who does this child think she IS, to have such loud opinions when she is only as big as two atoms? I’m sure in time this urge to squeeze and kiss and laugh will fade, to be replaced with the urge to muzzle and sequester.