december already

Apparently it’s December, if the calendars can be trusted. And I say, why not trust the calendars? What did they ever do to you?

My kid is inexorably, adorably inching closer to three years of age, a time when he will miraculously be capable of rational thought and self-sufficiency. I am very certain I will not be disappointed when, in a little less than two weeks, he wakes up and makes me a full English breakfast complete with espresso just the way I like it and a tiny bouquet of freshly-picked flowers. Because, three. Three will be my salvation, people.

But since he’s still two, the kid has been making the most of it, transforming from relatively easy-going (if stubborn and opinionated) toddler to Oh My God I Don’t Know How You Can Scream For So Long Without Taking A Breath (And Other Stories). We’ve got the old standbys of Meals and Bedtime, taken to new extremes (will not eat anything but granola bars! Refuses to sleep before midnight!), as well as some new and exciting triggers such as Cannot Possibly Hold Hands With Mommy If Daddy Is In The Same State and Diapers: Not For Changing. I would make a comment about the end of my rope, were I still able to remember a time when I had rope to measure.

Kids: you totally want one!

Which of course means I saw the cutest siblings out the other day, a brother and a sister around 8 and 10, horsing around at the crosswalk but then putting their arms around each other while they crossed the street. Just for a second, but long enough for me to think I want my kid to be a big brother. Because he’d be pretty awesome at it, probably. (Never mind that I couldn’t stand my sister when we were kids and we didn’t get along until she was probably 16 and I was 20…) I have to keep reminding myself of how much I loathed being pregnant and how nicely having one kid fits into our lives, because otherwise I’d be all baby crazy again and no one wants that.

And, seriously, could I handle another round of the Terrible Twos?

the twos, they are terrible

I had heard about the Terrible Twos. They’re old wives’ tale quaint and antiquated, like when people would tell me not to reach above my head when I was pregnant. Hee, I thought. Surely my kid will sail on through his second year with his sunny disposition intact, and then we can be those annoying parents who are all “Oh, terrible twos? No, we didn’t have any of that.”

Then we spent the whole day with a toddler who looked like this (in varying stages of breakdown):


Tantrum that lasted a whole day? Check! Falling apart when I asked him if he wanted a sandwich? Check! Screaming and flailing when we told him that no, we would not be going to daddy’s office because we were, in fact, with daddy at the time (and the office was closed)? OMG WHY DO YOU HATE BABIES??

He finally took a nap, after literally screaming himself into exhaustion. Have I mentioned that we live in an apartment? I can only imagine the degree to which our neighbors loathe us right now.

So, yes. Terrible Twos? Not so much an old wives’ tale. Or maybe it was because I lifted my arms above my head before he was born…