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Something interesting I’ve discovered about parenting. Other parents love to burst your happy bubble. Even when we first had our son and he was merely weeks old, people relished saying, “Enjoy him now…just wait until he’s a teenager!” Really? You’ve got to put a damper on the novelty of the blob stage (roughly 1 minute – 6 months old) to project me forward 12.5 years into dread?
What is it with parents? Is it just the “misery loves company” thing? Or do they truly want us to be prepared? Because if it’s the latter, I’ve got to tell you–nothing anyone has said to us has prepared us for this. Yes, the Terrible Twos have arrived.
Our previously angelic Mole Baby has turned into a headstrong, opinionated, independent, ornery little cuss (his father says more often than before that’s he’s “so much like me” – I am beginning to think he doesn’t mean that as a compliment). Yeah, yeah, yeah – you can tell me how he’s exercising his independence and that’s a good thing but I’m already so weary of time outs and counting “1…2…ok, then” that I’m thinking of running away from home. Or pinching his little head off like a shrimp. (Figure of speech, DFACS, figure of speech).
He looks angelic, doesn't he? Don't fall for it.
Don’t get me wrong. He’s still funny and adorable and loving. Most of the time. And other times, I’m sure that pod people have taken over his body and mind. And now that he’s two and we’re admitting it’s tough? People are practically giggling as they say “OH – you think two is bad? Wait until three!” Really?! Cut. It. Out. Let us be surprised.
Carpe…oh, I don’t even know what to seize now. Anyone seen my sanity?
