Bossy and other personality disorders

Stella, for all her endearing qualities, is bossy. We think she may border on OCD as well. And I'm not just using that term colloquially. Here's a conversation (I guess that's what you could call it) that she had tonight with me and Eric.

Scenario: She's just been put to bed. All of her expected requests have been made: both mom and dad have tucked her in, with multiple hugs and kisses. We all three sang B-I-N-G-O and the ABC song, which she calls E-I-E-I-O. She has her cup of water next to her bed and her seven (no joke) things that she must sleep with: brown bear, blue bear, new baby, big baby, little baby, sheep, football (yes, a football), and of course, bumpy, her blanket. OK, so it's eight.

We close the door and two minutes later she starts to scream.

Stella: Clean that up, Mommy! Mommy, clean that up. (louder now) Come clean that up, Mommy!

I open her door.

Me: First of all, you're not going to get anything asking like that. How do you ask nicely?

Stella: Peez, clean that up.

The child is referring to a puzzle that she left on her floor.

Me: Thank you for saying please. No, I'm not cleaning that up. Get out of bed and do it yourself.

So she does. Problem is, her overhead light is broken, and it's very dark in there. So it takes her forever to put the puzzle back together and in the right place. I tell her goodnight and walk out.

Two more minutes pass, and she starts up.

Stella: Where's that piece? That piece! Need that piece!

Eric goes this time.

Eric: Sweetie, what's wrong? (his patience isn't worn as thin by this time of day as mine has)

Stella: Need that piece!

OK, so the puzzle that she just cleaned up was missing a piece.

Eric: Stella, we can look for that tomorrow, but it's dark in here and it's time for bed.

Screams, cries, wails, and more begging ensue, all over the missing puzzle piece. Eric somehow has the touch, saying the right thing and eventually calming her down. He walks out of her room, and we just look at each other and laugh. Stuff like this happens all day in this house.

Considering I've had no other children, nor do I have much experience with two year olds, every day is an experiment with us. How can she one minute be such a maniac, but the next minute hear me clear my throat in another room, run in, and ask in the sweetest, most concerned voice, "You OK, mommy?"

Here's a shot of her being irresistable (from last fall). Hope everyone had a great holiday weekend!