My daughter whines because I am a sucker. Plain and simple. She is bright, and I am not, and when she whines I give her what she wants. Because she is intelligent, she has learned that is whining a really neat and effective way to go from wanting something to getting something. And I have to say, it’s really working for her.

I give in, to stop the insufferable banshee wailing. I can’t help it. I can’t tolerate her lamentations. They turn my brain to liverwurst and whatever thought I had, at the particular moment in time when the whining starts, is killed dead in its tracks by the shrieking. The whine floats from her mouth into the air and then into my eardrums where it permeates my skull and stops my neurons from firing. It’s like “raid” for brain waves. It kills them dead.

The only problem solving I am then capable of during a whining episode is “What does child want? Does child want water? No. Does child want food? No. Does child want to be held? No. Does child want to look at the fish in the tank? No. Does Child want to look at the snow globe? No. Does child want to sit on a pile of shoes in the closet and stick her face in an Aveda candle and say “NAM!” over and over again? YES! YES! Hallelujah! I found what child the wants! I have stopped the whining! Now where was I... And I do hope that candle is non-toxic..."

I realize that I feed the beast by responding to the awful racket she makes. When she was a baby, I followed the rule “you can’t spoil them in the first year”. I did whatever I could to keep the baby happy. But now she is almost 17 months old, and I’m afraid I am creating a monster. I also realize that it’s possible that I harbor a little working mother’s guilt. That guilt may be perpetuating the problem. When I get home, I want to play. I want to have fun. I want to laugh and giggle and read stories. I don’t want to be a hard-ass. So I may be a little lax on the discipline some days. I admit it. I also understand that being a toddler can be very frustrating. She has desires but no means to express them beyond a few uttered syllables, some gestures, and a whole lot of screaming and foot stomping.

I have also noticed that she is getting good at the “show”. For example, the other day when I refused to let her watch Sesame Street for the third time in a day, she ran into the kitchen like a diminutive, frenzied, whirling dervish. Her fists were clenched, her feet stomped, and her face looked to be on the verge of exploding. She even did that thing with her down-turned mouth and her “signature look”: An accusing grimace of sheer and utter despair. It says "How could you?? How could you do this to me? My world is falling apart! And you STAND THERE and say no! To Sesame Street! My world has collapsed into a miserable pile of ashes! No Sesame Street? I am dying inside. I am in pain. How could you DO THIS???"

I started to panic. Then I paused. Instead of frantically seeking out some kind of kiddie contraband to hand over as salve for her injured soul, I just paused and looked at her. I called her bluff. She met my gaze for a moment, and her expression gradually transformed from righteous indignation to resignation. She can’t talk yet, but her body language said “Eh. I had to at least give it a shot. I guess you can’t win them all” and she turned on her heel and trotted into her room to play with books. CONTENTEDLY.

Sticking to my guns is challenging. Especially when I only get to spend about two and a half hours with her each night before she goes to bed. When I try to cook dinner and she gets between me and the stove and pushes me back from it because she wants me to pick her up, it is hard to say no and make her wait until I am done. Her desperation for my attention breaks my heart a little, frankly. My immediate instinct is to get down to her level and pick her up in my arms. I hate to make her wait until I'm done.

I realize that in the long run, it's best to start implementing some kind of anti-whining plan. And it could be painful in the begninning. I hate making her wait for my attention, and it seems cruel to flat out IGNORE her. But like I said, I am afraid I am creating a monster. I have a sneaking suspicion that discipline only gets more challenging as these resourceful, intelligent little people grow older.

When I start feeling inscure about my own child's behavior, I like to watch "supernanny". Then I can smugly say to my husband "WHOAH. Those kids are God-awful! Their parents have no clue!" Because the kids on that show are usually a hundred times worse than any child I know of. I think that is the key to the sucess of the show. Allowing parents to see that someone else's children are children WAY worse that theirs, and their parents tremendously more inept. Justifying mediocre parenting everywhere! Hooray! At least we're not THAT bad! And if there comes a day when I see my own child in the behavior of the small delinquents on the television, I can always pick up the phone and call Jo, aka the supernanny, and beg her to get me in line on national television. Sanity is more important than pride after all. At least that is what I like to tell myself. I'll jot down the number and keep in handy, just in case.