Bug has made the transformation. Ya know the one – one day you have a sweet, albeit rambunctious, toddler and the next you have a cloven-hoofed two year old who doesn’t hear a word you say and if he DOES, he pretends he doesn’t. I’m talking about The Terrible Two’s. Or as I’ve come to think of them, The If-You-Say -“No”-or-Throw-Yourself-To-The-Ground-One-More-Time-I’m-Going-To-Lose-My-Fucking-Mind Phase.
I don’t remember it being this bad with Nut. I don’t. Sure, she liked to destroy her room instead of sleeping during afternoon nap. And sure, she threw some monumental tantrums. But this – this is a whoooolllle ‘nother level. I knew I was in for it when I read his daily sheet from daycare this week:
"Reid has not had good listening ears this week.”
“Reid took a swim in the sandbox. He is clean but wet.”
“Reid had to sit out on afternoon playground time.”
“Reid turned the water on in the bathroom and stuck his Mickey doll under the faucet when he was supposed to be napping.”
Swell. The Two’s had been rearing their ugly head sporadically up until this point, but this week has been HELL. I take a little refuge in the knowledge that Bug is no longer saving this just for me, but spreading his Two Year Old Glory to his teachers too.
His favorite word is “no”. And not just a casual “no”, not my boy. He SPITS it out with disdain, a look on his face like I’m an idiot. He sounds like a tiny Cartman from South Park. It drives me bananas and is his answer to everything lately:
“You want a hot dog, lil’ man?”
Thirty seconds later… “Waaaaahhhh! I want a hot dog!!!”
I feel like I can’t take him anywhere. He won’t sit in a cart, is a head injury waiting to happen, but as soon as I give in to his demands to walk, he SPRINTS like a God damned caged animal finally free and I’m left to decide which child to ditch ~ the pint-sized run away or his sister who is staying by the cart as instructed. He is like a tiny dog on those occasions; runs half a frickin’ mile before stopping and turning back to see if I’m behind him - and if he sees I am, whooosh! He’s off another six aisles. I call him The Terr(or)ier.
No form of punishment phases him. Time out? Psssh. Take his toy away? Oh well, he has 97 other Matchbox cars he can turn to. A threat to swat his bottom? He laughs and says, “silly, Mommy! That’s funny!”
His attention span is all of maybe 12 seconds when we are in public. He is cute, I’ll give him that. He tells everyone hello and goodbye and he dances and sings to music. And today when he pulled a giant VAT of vinegar off the shelf at Super Walmart, he told the poor worker who came to clean it up that he was “sowwy”. I guess in the grand scheme of things, at least the little shit has manners.