Definitely plotting something
I have mentioned before that the toddler stage has definitely not been my favorite. I didn’t realize it when in I was deep in the fog of new parenthood, but infants are so much easier. After awhile, you can get them to eat, sleep and poop on a schedule. You can strap them into their car seats and they will gladly fall asleep or stare off into space while you enjoy a meal. If they are fussy, you can usually calm them down by rocking them for a while or making a few funny faces.
Toddlers are a completely different breed. Their lack of impulse control, propensity to become overstimulated by circumstances that are completely mundane to grown-ups, limited communication and inability to listen to reason make them pretty much impossible. I’m pretty sure that the first toddler tantrum was what finally snapped me out of my new parenthood fog and brought back vivid memories of the good old days. Suddenly, I remembered exactly what my life was like before this screaming little terror took it over. Spoiler alert: it was awesome.
Also, if there are any soon-to-be parents out there, be forewarned that the term “terrible twos” is a misnomer. The demon behavior starts almost immediately after they turn one. Get your wine glasses ready now.
Don’t get me wrong, there are many days when B is completely adorable and we have the best time together. But some days, she is completely insane. I realize that it’s not her fault, for all the reasons I mentioned above…but some days she drives us completely insane as well.
Like someone who has had too much to drink, she is prone to frequent stumbling and violent outbursts that include throwing things. She laughs and cries at random, often inappropriate times. She will dance around with plastic containers on her head. She an fall dead asleep, anytime, anyplace, anywhere.
Like a senior citizen, B lacks any kind of filter. She has no problem telling me that I am fat, for example. Okay, so she hasn’t actually said this to me, but the way that she squeezes by belly and laughs certainly implies it. Like someone in the advanced stages of senility, she has hidden my cell phone in the oven of her play kitchen and I have found her toy keys in my refrigerator. I have to repeat everything I say at least fifty times because she never seems to hear me the first time around.
Like a puppy, she is prone to accidents and has ruined every nice thing that we own. She craves attention for showing off her tricks, all the time. On the plus side, she can now sometimes be bribed with snacks.
Although I can’t say that I have ever encountered a terrorist or a hostage-taker in person, I’m pretty sure that I have read enough books and seen enough movies to know that B is just like them, too. She is full of demands and she will resort to torture, such as biting, pinching and hitting when she isn’t obeyed. She has perfected the art of hanging onto legs and wrapping her arms around necks to trap her victims.
Like a mental patient, she dances to music that only they can hear and talks to people that only they can see. I have seen her go from all-out mania to crippling depression in a matter of minutes. Her ability to listen to the same story, sing the same song and eat the same food over and over again could easily be mistaken for OCD.
Fortunately, nature knows what it’s doing, so it also equipped this little monster with the ability to look at me with wide eyes, pull me into a hug, and whisper the word “love” in my ear. Those fleeting moments are probably what keeps us parents from abandoning our toddlers on busy street corners, with signs around their necks that says “free to good home.” Those are the moments I try to remember when I’ve had to peel a screaming little person off the world’s largest rubber duck or been the target of a 6 a.m. kitchen floor meltdown because I gave said little person Honey Nut Cheerios instead of the regular variety.
It’s either that, or I open the liquor cabinet and drink all of its contents in one sitting. But, I’m pretty sure that dealing with a tiny, drunk, senior citizen, while nursing a hangover is the worst idea ever.