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‘There’s nothing wrong with her,’ I say. ‘Lottie, get up.’
An older woman a few seats away pats the steward’s arm. ‘It’s the terrible twos. They all go through it.’
‘Lottie,’ I say calmly. ‘If you don’t get up right now, there will be no Disney World, no ice-cream, and no television for a week.’
In a battle of wills, my three-year-old daughter is easily my equal. But she’s not just stubborn: she’s smart. She can make a cost/benefit analysis in an instant.
She sits up, and the concerned whispers around me change to exasperated mutters of disapproval.
‘I hate you!’ Lottie says. ‘I wish I’d never been born!’
I pull her to her feet. ‘That makes two of us,’ I say.
