William is delightfully two. Not terrible. He is almost always a jolly little boy. His sister requires a little more maintenance but, as long as everyone acknowledges her place at the top of the food chain, which as it turns out is her happy place as well. I am not smug. Not at all. In fact, I am just a little bit nervous that a storm is coming.
I may have felt the first stiff gust of that storm the other day. I am not sure that this incident was as a bona fide tantrum because William was sick with an ear infection. Everyone deserves some slack when they are sick, especially if they are very small and have an ear ache.
Will had slept like a champ that night. Both he and his sister go to sleep at 7 p.m. without a fuss and generally sleep until at least 6:30 the next morning. He woke up in an excellent mood and then about an hour into the morning he just melted down.
He wanted me to pick him up. When I picked him up he wanted to lie down. Once we were down, he wanted back up. He wanted his diaper off, then back on when it was off, then off when I tried to put it on. In the end it stayed off.
Meanwhile, Claire camped out on my bedroom floor, head on her blankie, and just looked at us like we were crazy. Not an unusual look for Claire. She is cut from altogether better cloth. Eventually, she’d had enough and started to cry herself. Perfectly understandable when you are very small and your twin brother has been hogging all the parental attention for forever and ever.
I left William crying on my bed and carried her down stairs to watch “doggies” with Chris. Claire was instantly transported to her happy place. It turns out that a Disney addiction has its advantages. (See the previous post).
I returned to find William standing on the edge of my bed, considerately peeing over the side onto the floor. No need to change the sheets. Whatever else you may say about William, that boy has range. Props. Bladder empty, he was finally prepared to lie down with daddy to cuddle. After 15 minutes of snuggling on my chest, he was good as new.
I recounted this story to some friends, each of whom is parent to older children. “The terrible twos can be tough,” said one. Nods all around. “You know, I found the troublesome threes to be worse,” said another. More nods and general agreement that trouble really begins to brew in the third year. A daddy speaks up, “If you ask me, its the f*ing fours that kill you.” Much rueful laughter.
He was joking, right?
January 26, 2009 at 4:07 pm |
As you are probably fully aware, he’s not joking…parenting is a wild ride. Just when you think you’ve got a handle on things, your kids go and change all the rules. We’ll come out as better people in the end; at least that’s what I keep telling myself.
January 29, 2009 at 5:00 pm |
I think three was harder than two, and now it’s getting easier and harder. Easier because Benjamin can understand choices and consequences and harder because he also wants to assert his independence constantly. I laughed when I read about William peeing off the side of the bed. Benjamin used to take off his diaper in his crib and use his toys for target practice. It was his way of sticking it to me when he didn’t want to take a nap. I finally wised up and put him in onsies at nap time. But honestly, I think the work and sacrifice only strengthen the bonds we have with our kids. I truly believe deeper love comes from work and sacrifice. Our kids teach us how to forget ourselves.