We recently moved from a nice country house into a city apartment so that my son could attend an excellent college prep school. It is nice, as far as apartments go, and has more room than most. It is near to shopping and entertainment and walking trails. In fact, it would be as perfect as a city place could get, except for the ThunderBunny living above me. Now, she isn't really a bunny, she is a very young Indian girl, perhaps 2 years in age. She looks like a little doll, with those big dark eyes, the tiny gold jewelry, the little patent leather shoes, and the mop of jet black hair. Ah, but as we know, looks can be deceiving; she is a doll, like Chuckie was a doll.
Her favorite activity is jumping. Jumping for hours on end. Jumping on the bed directly above mine, jumping on the couches, and jumping off of any raised surface she can find. For such a tiny little thing, she lands like a bull elephant. Whenever she wants something, which is frequently, she shrieks. Those guinea hens on John's blog sound like purring kittens in comparison. She does not talk. She can, but she doesn't need to. She has everyone conditioned to race around and figure out what she is screaming about. If they don't figure it out quickly enough, she lays down and screams even louder and kicks the floor and the walls with those hard-bottomed patent shoes. She apparently has no set nap time or bed time. I can tell when she is getting tired, because it gets even noisier, and she shrieks and screams and kicks and jumps incessantly for about 2 hours before falling asleep wherever she toppled over, finally exhausted. At night, this is usually about 2:30 a.m.
I have reported it to management. They've come back and told me that the parents say they cannot control her actions, that she is acting like a normal toddler. Really?! Sigh.