The Terrible Twos

My youngest hit two and a half in November.  Up until that milestone he was the perfect toddler: kind, loving, sweet and playful. Then quite suddenly, abruptly, he entered the "terrible twos" and all hell broke loose.  I've endured temper tantrums, crying jags, hitting and throwing fits and a generally defiant attitude. He does not want the red sippy cup, he only wants to drink from the green one.  He does not want to eat a real, healthy, balanced dinner, he only wants to eat meat and macaroni and cheese. Getting him to cooperate while helping him get dressed is like wrestling an alligator in a bathtub filled with jello. I've been smacked in the nose, he's spilled his cup all over my lap, and there are lots of tears, mostly mine.  And then at the drop of a hat he goes back to his adorably sweet self, offering hugs and kisses, and I just cannot be mad at that smiling face with the cutest little dimples ever.

I've noticed lately my cute little boy is more demanding and clingy.  I can no longer be in the bathroom alone.  Little fingers slide under the door.  "Can you see me, Mama?"  "What are you doing in there, Mama?" "Mama, I need you! Come out of there!"  My hiding place has been discovered.  What's a mom to do? (Nothing. The answer is nothing. But I now understand why a walk-in pantry is highly desired by mothers!)

He's also repeating the words he hears adults say.  It became evident a few mornings ago when he called his brother an asshole.  I was torn between reprimanding him or bursting from uncontrollable laughter.  I must admit I was impressed he used it in the correct context because his brother was being mean.  Being the mother of a toddler means not using the words I feel like using because that two-year-old is listening to every word I say.  It also means failing sometimes because my children know how to push my buttons.

Speaking of brothers, why is it that the middle child feels it's his birthright to torment the littlest?  If I had a dollar for every time I yelled, "Don't hit your brother!" I'd be a very rich woman. That's not to say that the baby doesn't fight back, he does, and he can hold his own. I suppose it's the chain of command.  My oldest picked on the middle so why shouldn't the cycle continue? I used to try and separate them, and would often get whacked in the back with a light saber.  Now I tell them to have at it! Let them battle it out!  (I do intervene when things get serious, I promise!)

The bright side to all of these wild days is that my last child, my baby, is learning and growing at a fast pace.  He knows his ABCs and he's working on counting to ten.  He gets mixed up on whether five comes before six, but he's always proud of himself when he gets it right.  And he recently learned how to whisper.  This was a much appreciated thing because his older brothers get awfully loud sometimes. He loves the library and gets very excited when we pull into the parking lot.  Legos are a favorite activity so long as I count with him, over and over, how many red, blue and yellow Legos were used to make his castle.

It's bittersweet to think about how soon these days will be over.  One day I'm going to miss having a three-foot-tall human appendage clinging to my leg...right?  Yes, yes I will.

Comments

Chris Chiapuzio said…
That 2 1/2 year old is also an amazing sou chef. You're doing a lot right. I love your new blog, and that Mommy's taking some time out to do what she loves, too!
Dana said…
He really does amaze me. Thank you for reading. It was time for a change and to get back into it. I’ve missed it so much!

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