crazedparent

Two is not so terrible...

"How old is your son?"

"He's two."

"Ohhhhh. Wow. Two. How's it goin'?"

"You want the truth? You want me to crumble. To tell you two is awful. That he's climbing on counters and painting the walls with cake frosting. You want me to weep bitter tears because he's tearing off his diaper and smearing his crib with poop. You want me to say his tantrums are awful. That he kicks and screams whenever we're in public and people stare at me like I'm the worst mom in the world. That he throws his food on the floor at dinner time. That his favorite word is 'No!' yelled at the top of his incredibly robust lungs. He hits. He pinches. He bites. He's Two.  You want the truth? You can't handle the truth."

And the truth is that...two is not so terrible.

Two is the age I adore the most. Mighty Q. marked this milestone one month ago and while we wait for the proverbial "terrible two" shoe to drop, I'm desperately in love and wonder. He's saying things like, "I'm being silly" and "I want my brother to come home. I miss him." There's "I want my mommy. I neeeed mommy." And perhaps my favorite is when I ask him a question and he starts his sentence with the word, "Because." Q.'s all cuddles. He asks for "love" with his arms outstretched. He laughs hysterically at things he believes are funny. He's wickedly sneaky but so transparent that you know he's up to no good. He sings songs with me at bedtime, curled up in my arms as I rock him, his voice warbley and innocent. He looks straight in to my eyes as I sing and in two seconds can make me feel like the most important person in the entire world.

Two is bittersweet. You watch your child turn grow from baby to big kid. And you suddenly understand why your parents stare at you when they watch you as a mom or dad. They're thinking back and remembering you as a child. Maybe even you at two. They're remembering when they sang to you and you stared back in their eyes.

I have ten months of two left. Trust me, I know the underbelly of two. The dark side waiting to emerge. Or maybe it'll just stay the hell away.  And let me continue to enjoy my world of two-is-not-so-terrible.

A toddler moment...

I took Q. out today to pick up a new pair of shoes. His "old" pair could hardly be deemed worn. By all appearances, they looks quite clean but the insoles have a little divot where his big toe has left its imprint from his love of running and playing hard. He is a human esperesso bean -- sugary sweet with a touch of bitterness (when angry) and full of energy.

The shoe purchase was uneventful. The salesman measured Q.'s feet and directed me towards the wall with columns of shoes appropriate for this size. I picked out two pairs -- a different color of the shoes he currently has, and a fun pair of Vans with a brown checkerboard pattern. As I placed the first pair on Q. he wiggled and squirmed saying, "Off Mommy, off!" I then moved to the second pair -- the Vans.

"Nooooo!" he squealed, and started crying. "Those shoes, those shoes," he said as he pointed to his old pair.

The salesman brought out the pair Q. wanted and then Q. started to emit a laugh that was a mix of delight and relief. His old shoes, only bigger. Now Q.'s rockin' his favorite Tsukihoshi sneakers.

I sometimes forget that even at his young age -- he's a month shy of turning two -- he still has favorites. Beyond his love of book, trucks, cranes, trains, and all things that make loud noises. He has a favorite blanket. A favorite stuffed animal. A favorite song that I sing to him. Why wouldn't he already have a favorite piece of clothing or shoes too? He's not a baby anymore -- and that moment quickly reminded me that he's becoming his own person, independent and opinionated in his own way.

We left the store, me holding the bag with his old shoes and Q. sprinting away testing out his digs. He stopped, turned around and put his hand out.

"Hold mano, Mommy."

Translated: "Mommy, hold my hand."

Lucky for me, I'm still his favorite mommy.