Terrible Wonderful Twos

You know, by the time I had Noah I was certain that I had it (motherhood) figured out. I thought I was an old pro. I was sure that I could write a novel about it and you would read it because, well, Steph has obviously got her ducks ducklings in a row. Not only did I love being a mom, but I was good at it, and I had control. My kids would never embarrass me or bring me to my knees. I would always gloat– while they sang their ABC’s backwards and said please and thank you in 3 different languages. Hahhhahhahaaaha.

But that’s absolutely not true. I’m humbled every single day. If I’m crazy enough to leave my house and take this crazy house party out in public, I prepare myself ahead of time for the dirty looks and judgmental stares. And I wear two layers of antiperspirant– two layers under the pits, and two layers under the eyes. The pits because I sweat all day like a whore in church from the stress, and the eyes because I’d rather them see me sweat than see me cry.

So I thought I had this control. I used to see moms interacting with their “troubled” child at Wal Mart and I would say to myself, “Hmmmm. Makes you wonder what’s going on in that home. Tsk, tsk, tsk.” I figured a child’s behavior was a real reflection of the parenting, the love. But it’s not true. I’m now convinced that I was all wrong about those mothers and “their homes.” What a judgmental asshole I was!

I could tell Austin at two years of age, “Austin, now you sit still and quit wiggling so much, and be quiet too,” and Austin would reply, “Ok, momma.” And I would gloat within because my child listened and was respectful and NEVER tested me, especially in public. Everyone always complimented our parenting because Austin was so polite and so thoughtful. “What a kid.” And I’d puff up like a peacock because he turned out so wonderfully even though I was a baby when I had him. But the truth is, he isn’t wonderful because of me, I’m pretty sure he is so fantastic despite me. I can’t take credit for the good behavior and not take responsibility for the bad.

I was eating at McDonald’s yesterday with the babes. There was a young mother (23-25) and her son, Niko, about Noah’s age. Now she was in control. And I couldn’t take my eyes off of her because, despite that she was a young mother, she seemed to know what she was doing. When she put her son in time out, he sat there quietly until she said he could get up. When she told him to go apologize for accidentally bumping into Noah, he did it.

And then there was Noah. I knew the accidental bumping was just as much his fault as the other little fella. So if Niko could say “I’m sorry,” so could Noah. But I know Noah. And I know that Noah is going to make this go down in history. And he did. We ended up leaving. I was embarrassed and shamed. My son not only didn’t say he was sorry, he screamed the whole time about how he was going to “beat that kid up” and he kept looking at the mother hatefully and yelling, “I DON’T LIKE YOU!” All the while he is swinging and hitting, scratching, crying. I can feel myself shrinking into myself, wanting to disappear and explode at the same time. The other mother is sweet and I hear her through Noah’s screaming and scratching, saying something about, “Hahaha…. Terrible Twos… So sweet…. Awww… He’s Ok… Blah Blaaaah blaah.” When you know in her head she’s probably thinking, “Little BRAT.” Yeah, she is! I know she is because I’m thinking it too, damnit!

Everyone is waiting for me to react to his behavior. If I spank him, he hits me back…. back and forth, back and forth. If I try to make him sit down and get himself together, he screams louder and won’t stay in his seat. He consistently punks me out. The only thing I can do is remove him. And that’s great, it works, it makes me feel better to get the hell away from public places too when he’s acting like that. But what about little Bella? Why should she ALWAYS get the short end of the stick because of Noah’s fits? Why do we always have to leave– the park, the library, the PlayLand, a friend’s house, just when she’s made friends and is starting to have fun? It’s always the same. We really shouldn’t even leave the house. And WalMart trips or trying to eat out at a restaurant? FUHGETAHBOUDIT. Hell no. I’d rather if you dug my eyeballs out, shaved my elbows off, or shoved bamboo slivers under my nail beds.

We have an affectionate home. We cuddle, we play, we talk kindly to one another. We aren’t lazy, we discipline consistently for the most part. Our children know they are loved beyond loved. We also know it is normal 2 year old behavior– the tantrums, the hitting, the boundary testing. But this is extreme. And it’s so tiring.

Terrible Twos. Hahaha. Isn’t God such a funny, funny guy? He’s so silly. Just when I thought I’d go and take motherhood too seriously and forget to laugh, God went and made a funny. The terrible twos.

I knew Noah was going to be my little wild man, so it comes as no surprise that he would be the one to show me what they meant when they coined it the “terrible” twos. I knew when he started into this world with such a fiesty spirit, that he was going to be something else. The child was out of the womb and laying on the birthing bed, screaming, before the doctor could even get his gloves on. And I know that the difficulties– they will get better, or change, or be replaced. Everything is temporary with kiddos. He won’t be 14 years old and throwing himself on the ground in the middle of Wal Mart.

Right?

I guess I wrote this to air… To connect with others who are secretly rubbing antiperspirant under their eyes. And for those who will see a struggling mother in Wal Mart next week. You might want to shake your head and say to yourself, “Wow, she’s doing something wrong.” But don’t. Look at her and smile. That’s what she needs. No judgments. Float a prayer up for her instead that she survives this funny, mean, endearing, awful, wonderful little joke God shared with us: The Terrible Twos.

Posted by: stepherz | 01-30-2009 | 03:01 PM
Posted in: Just Me | Momma