For twenty minutes today I argued with a toddler about the benefits of wearing pants instead of shorts in the winter. I caved. He won. I just couldn't do it anymore. He is sitting there is a diaper and a sweatshirt, yelling no at me, and I gave him the Spiderman shorts. The evil part of me wanted to carry his ass down to the front yard and plop him in the three feet of snow, but I didn't. Instead, I walked him down the steps and got him juice. He then threw the cup at me and yelled jeans. Youngest child is in the midst of the terrible twos. I may not make it to see his third birthday. He is draining me daily.
Some days, I don't know how I do it. I always try to make myself feel better and say it will pass, but oh my goodness getting there is so frustrating. This cute little bundle of awfulness literally happened overnight. I don't get it. One day, he was this lump of baby that I would carry around everywhere and play with while he drooled on himself. Now, he has OPINIONS and WANTS. He is two! Why the hell does he not understand I am the one who should be getting my way? I am the one who made him. I mean, the hubby helped, but I should still get my way.
I find myself arguing with him. We play superheros and he likes the little figures to fight. I argue with him that they should only hug and go for walks. This is a constant disagreement. The little guy does not like compromise, so in the end I quit playing. It is all very surreal. I can actually see myself having the disagreements with this little two foot terror, and him winning. In the end, I lose and end up stomping away like a child. It is insane.
He is this precious little timebomb always waiting to explode. If I don't pour the apple juice into the right sippy, he has a fit. If the little guy feels like wearing sandals out in the snow, arguing doesn't work. If I can't find his favorite stuffed animal (which changes daily) he will scream and stomp.
I keep saying that three is just around the corner. He is almost there...in ten more months. I don't figure that it can get much worse. Or, maybe it can. He will then be able to turn the knob, instead of just pounding on the door yelling "Mom", during mommy time outs.