Ah, two. My child is two. People joke a lot about the “terrible twos” but I have to say I am loving two so far. Sure there are moments like these, where my son has:
– Gotten out of bed to throw 20 perfectly good, unused diapers into his Diaper Genie. He was supposed to be sleeping, clearly he wasn’t so interested in that plan.
– Woken me up at 6am with pitiful, mournful cries of “Mama! Dada!! Mama! Peeese! Mama!”. I hustle down stairs, intent on reuniting with my obviously sad and despondent child, a child who clearly needs and wants his mama. I open his bedroom door and he pushes past me (no kiss, no hug, no backward glance) declaring “I see digga Mama? I see digga?” as he marches to the windows to stare at the construction equipment on the street below. This equipment may be replacing balls as his reason for living.
– Hit me on the leg with his copy of the book “Hand Are Not For Hitting” when I did something that frustrated him. What it was I don’t recall (perhaps something unthinkably cruel like trying to change his diaper). He got sent to time out and I considered writing a sequel to “Hands Are Not For Hitting” called “Books About Not Hitting Are Also Not For Hitting: The Bobo Monkey Story”.
But there are also moments like these:
– He asks to take a bath and then during the bath leaned over and began to quite expertly blow bubbles and put his face underwater. Afterwards he would sit up proudly, water streaming down his face, and exclaim “I did it!”. And then I would die from the pride.
– He lays his head on my leg and softly, softly sang the ABC song with me at bedtime, clapping at the end and then sighing a happy sigh he whispers “did it mama, did it. Again?”
– Gave me a loud smacking kiss when I dropped him off at daycare and then said “Bye bye! Juve you Mama. ” (that’s obviously “love you”, in case you don’t speak toddler).
He is exhausting and hilarious and opinionated and wonderful and frustrating and delicious and delightful. I am so lucky.