It Ain't Easy Bein' Two

My dear son, whom we affectionately refer to as "Thing Two", has entered that beautiful stage of life where one leaves behind the adorable sweetness of babyhood and enters a world that I am convinced inspired the movie "The Exorcist". He is my second son, so one would THINK that I was prepared for this stage. My firstborn, (Thing One), was by no means a treat at this age. He inherited his mother's stubborn streak and his father's sensitive streak, so you can imagine how delightful he was at two. But this one, he tricked me. He stayed in his "sweet baby" stage much longer than his elder brother did. He turned two without throwing tantrums, yelling "NO!" in my face, or launching toys into the air forcing parental units to always keep their hands up in self defense. I naively thought that perhaps Thing Two was just an easier child than his counterpart, and I wouldn't have to face those long months of emotional turmoil (my own and his).

Yeah. Right.

It's as if those extra months of baby sweetness that I got were his plot to lull me into a sense of confidence in my mothering skills. And then, WHAM. Thing Two has now become a swirling ball of conflicting emotions, vacillating between hyperactive giggles and wailing at the top of his lungs. And he's quite a tease. He will pick on anyone available, usually Thing One or the dog.

Today has been a special day for Thing Two. Last night, we set up "The Bunkbeds of Doom". Our eldest nearly had a coronary over the wonderful-ness of the bunk beds. He's been asking for them since he learned of their existence. Naturally, being the oldest, he gets the top bunk for now and spent a pleasant evening using his flashlight to make his glow-in-the-dark ceiling stars shine with brilliance. Thing Two, however, has made it his life's ambition to be on the top bunk. There are several problems with this, the main one being that he tends to exit furniture head first (on purpose). So we took the ladder off the bed and told our five year old to climb up without it, which was no problem for him. There, we thought. We are smart parents. Now Thing Two will stay safely on the ground. Meanwhile, Thing Two was thinking, "Nice try", and in no time mastered climbing to the top on his own, despite repeated interference from alert parents. I'm expecting a trip to the emergency room any time.

We also had an interesting lunch. Between the time change and the bunk beds, Thing Two has been sleeping far too little in the past couple weeks. And today, his foolish parents decided to go out to lunch with extended family. And we also foolishly chose a sit down restaurant. Thing Two took issues with several things: the high chair we squeezed his chubby body into, and the long wait for his food. Everything was fine for awhile, as he was distracted by the blue balloon tied to his seat. After about twenty minutes, exhaustion and hunger said to his two year old brain, "Enough waiting. You must scream now." So he did. It was a noisy restaurant, but we still got some death glares. Those always amuse me. You know when people start staring at a child-in-tantrum in public that they either 1) have no children or 2) have only female children. It's not that only boy toddlers freak out, but I'm convinced that girl ones do it less in public, only because of the reactions I have gotten from parents who only had girls. Boy toddlers are a special brand of...fun. And to tell you honestly, I never notice young children freaking out in public. It's sort of become my default background music, sort of like a pilot grows accustomed to the hum of jet engines. Anyway, we ended up having to flee the restaurant, which is something anyone with a (male) toddler has probably done at least once.

I guess we can't just stay in our home until he turns three (or if he's like his brother, four). And I'm trying to remember that this is just a phase. Surely, I can recall the hours of mental anguish and praying I did with Thing One, who now is starting to resemble a functioning member of society. It's so easy to focus on the now instead of remembering that each stage of life comes with trials and blessings. And all the embarrassing moments of public parental scrutiny sorta fade into fuzziness when I hear in broken toddler-ese "Lah-loo, Mommy." (Translation: Love you, Mommy.)