As a mother of a 2 year old, when people say things to me like, “Isn’t this such a special time?” or, “These are the days you’ll really miss,” my gut reaction is to want to punch them in the teeth. Okay, but then I get over that and I forgive them, knowing that this is a prime example of the brilliance of the human species- the ability to forget the grief and torture involved in bringing a life into this world and raising it to adulthood, the memory lapse that makes room for only the fuzzy, warm feelings when looking back. I also refer to this as momnesia (or dadnesia).
It is what has allowed me to succumb to creating and incubating a 2nd fetus with every intention of birthing it the same way I did the first– with no pain medication. Enough time has passed that I can’t recall the exact burning sensation of the “ring of fire” or the particular pain of the pressure of what felt like a semi truck driving through my spine. All I remember is the warm, fuzzy feeling I felt after delivering him, and deep down, for whatever reason, I classify the whole ordeal in my brain under “good experience.” So I do try to restrain myself when well-meaning people (who have been there, raised that) suggest that I’m maybe not cherishing this time with my son enough, when they infer that I might, someday soon, “miss this.” (Also, LOL at all the sweet people who have suggested that perhaps my temperamental son, who is not running a fever, nor displaying a runny nose, cough, rash, limp or anything else to make me suspect he is ill, is merely under the weather. People, if I could vaccinate against the Tyrannical Twos, I would.)
Admittedly, there are days that can not come to an end fast enough lately. I’m not doing such a great job at the whole “be happy for this moment, this moment is your life” thing, but I’m trying, I really am. The thing is, this moment? My life? A little bit harder to be happy for while entirely sober and pregnant. Clearly, I didn’t think through the whole raising-a-2-year-old-whilst-pregnant thing enough. My husband asked me at the end of the night last night, after his 2nd beer, why Kendall was stressing me out so bad. I wanted to break the Budlight bottle over his slightly buzzed head. I’m not saying I need a flask to get through the day, but it would be a lot easier to unwind from the tyranny of a 2 year old with a glass of wine in hand.
I can’t say, though, that this time is entirely without it’s perks because he IS undeniably cute and funny, and blows me away with all the new things he’s learning and saying and doing. He counts to 14 and sings “Itsy Bitsy Spider” with coordinating hand gestures. He refers to me as “momma-baby” when he really wants things from me now, like addressing both inhabitants of my body will work in his favor to get that cookie he’s been begging for. When we announced to him that he would be getting a baby sister, he looked up and innocently asked “where da brudder go?” Sooo…. guess he was hoping it was a boy. He lives to run after things (read: pets) and screams, “I chase you! I catch you!” and then tackles them with big hugs and kisses. And he cuddles… a lot lately.
He styles himself and plays a mean keyboard. Look out Elton John!
Part of me is quick to attribute this attitude change as of late to him being, well, you know, TWO. He’s all about pushing boundaries, pressing buttons, testing my patience. I hear this is common at this age, right?? Also, he has the mood swings of a 14 year old girl. “Don’t look at me! Wait… look at me but only to give me that cookie. NO! Not THAT cookie!! The OTHER cookie! OHMYGOD the cookie is DISGUSTING!! What did you do to the cookie? Wait, wait, don’t walk away. I’m smiling!! See!! PLEASE! I want another cookie. NO! You can’t do anything right. Wrong cookie again! I’m going TO DIE!!! I’m going to lay on the floor right here and die. It’s all your fault.” <<It is a DAMN good thing he is so undeniably cute in between level 10 meltdowns.
I’ve come to the conclusion that the level of cuteness increases as the level of toddler terrorism increases. I demonstrate my theory in the line chart below:
Again, another example of the brilliance of the human species- to make tiny toddler terrorists simultaneously adorable and hilarious so as to ensure the propagation of the species and prevent massive toddler abandonment at the nearest Walmart.
Now, another part of me really wonders how much of this has to do with the pregnancy. Maybe it’s just me trying to “diagnose” something that might be triggering these incessant meltdowns, but I can’t help but think that all this really started flaring up around the time I started showing… and picking him up less. I really don’t pick him up nearly as much as I used to. Well, for one, he’s HUGE. I mean, pregnant or not, carting around a 37 lb toddler was not going to work forever. Then, yeah, I just can’t do it that much anymore, being pregnant and all. And even if I can now, to a degree, I know I won’t be able to much longer. I’ve been trying to slowly wean him from all the picking up, despite his adorable and heart-breaking pleas to “pick-y up, mommy!” As I mentioned earlier, he’s been quite the cuddle bug lately, which is pretty out of character for him. He loves to sit on my lap whenever he gets the chance. Do you think this is all related? Have you been through anything similar with your child? How did you handle it?
I’ve been trying to spend more one-on-one time with him (while simultaneously trying to keep my head from exploding), and, of course, I’ve let him sit on my lap whenever possible. I even tried to take a nap with him today, thinking it might be nice to have some snuggle time, but that wound up to be a giant wrestling match that produced no sleeping.
Either way, whatever the reason, he IS cute and I DO love him so, so much, but holy hell, he is a straight up toddler terrorist these days, like the epitome of the “terrible twos,” I tell you. I wish I was alone, sort of, but I know I’m not… and I’m sorry for you if you’re dealing with this, too.
Kendall is 2 (I guess we covered that) and I’m…. losing track of how pregnant I am… 19 weeks-ish, I think?