We are in the throes of the "Terrible Twos" here. Once again, I find myself at a complete loss, as an only child who has never really had much exposure to small children. I keep trying to reassure myself that this stuff is normal and my son isn't really demon spawn.
I find myself fighting battles I don't want to fight, and having to put my foot down a lot harder than I really want, because I can't show weakness. I can't let him think he can get his way by acting the way he does. I know that somewhere in his little toddler brain it all makes sense somehow -- that really, the screaming will work this time. That it's okay to not do the things Mommy says, or not wear shoes, or a jacket, or clothes at all. That it's okay to kick or hit, even though every time it lands his little tantrummy butt in time out.
He's so sweet, and so smart, and his vocabulary is amazing, and if he could just use his words, everything would be fine. Use the words before the meltdown and the time out and the hug and make up, and we would save so much time. And sanity.
The other night, after telling the boy that I understood that he was upset and if he wanted to cry about it that was fine but he had to do it in his room because nobody else wanted to hear it, I walked back into the living room and exchanged exasperated looks with my husband.
"I hope we're not screwing up royally," I said to him. "This is a developmental thing, right? He'll get past this eventually? Please tell me he's not going to grow up to be awful."
The best he could offer was, "I think so."
