When B declared "War" on me yesterday, I felt a little unprepared. I didn't know we were even in prewar negotiations. To be frank, I think that she just declared it with no talks at all. I could be mistaken though, because we didn't have a reliable interpreter present who spoke both languages, and like French, I understand more "B" than I speak, which I think she finds frustrating and just a little insulting. Her portions of the conversation were broken and garbled, and came spilling out of little lips along with snot and tears, but from what I understood, the statement went a little like this:
B does not sleep in a big girl bed for nap. B sleep in mommy daddy bed. Now!
Being a mother of some skills, I simply scooped her up, dropped her in her big girl bed, shut and locked her door, and then put a gate up in front of her door. Sounds reasonable right? Case closed. Bed selection has been made. Well, B has apparently done extensive SEAL team P.O.W. training and can now escape from anywhere, because the next thing I knew there was a LOUD crash upstairs and 30 seconds later, B was standing at the top of the stairs continuing her tirade about beds, naps and what exactly was going to go down.
In short. She's a climber. I don't know what I thought a baby gate designed for the containment of babies was going to do.