I feel glad I wrote journals about daughter Claire, from pregnancy to age five. A funny excerpt:

"Around age 3-1/2, you got so demanding that I sympathized with my friend Amy when she said at two, her son was so difficult, "If gypsies had come by, I would have sold him cheap."

In desperation, your dad and I turned to parenting books. Late at night, exhausted, we laid side-by-side on the bed, searching book indexes for "whining," "obnoxious," "arguing," "manipulative," and of course, "demanding."

The best we could find was "tantrums," but that implied an outburst with an end. Your behavior was like Chinese torture: ceaseless pushing like a steady drip-drip-drip that wears out a rock.

Mealtimes were the worst. First you demanded to be fed NOW, so we kept the peace by filling your plate first. You were well into your meal before we sat down. The minute I sat down, the demands began:

"More water."
"More peas."
"I want THAT."

Like a fool, I'd stand up to get you seconds before taking my first bite. By the time I sat down again, my food was ice cold.

Finally, we'd had enough. We decided not to do anything for you that you could do by yourself.

"I'm not your slave," Daddy told you.
"I'm not your maid," I said.

One day, Cheryl was having lunch with us when you asked for more water.

"Get it yourself!" Terry and I chimed.

"If I didn't know what you two were doing, that would sound really terrible," Cheryl said and laughed.

Eventually you mellowed, as children do when passing through a phase.