It never ceases to amaze me how full of surprises, enchanting, exciting, and DECEIVING being a mother can be. When you have a baby for the first time, everyone warns you about those pesky “terrible twos” and when your child hits two you brace yourself, armed with tactics and the tools you think you need to survive…hoping that you can make it to that third birthday with all of your hair still in tact and a toddler that’s still….breathing. I was more then prepared and as The Dictator’s second birthday approached and then passed by, I patiently waited for it all and eventually as month after month zipped by, I started to think that I got the broken child, the one who was just so compliant, peaceful, calm – I was the lucky one, the one that got to skip all the terribleness…YAY ME.
I had only just begun to celebrate, to rejoice that we “ours” wasn’t so terrible and suddenly like an earthquake that hits without warning The Dictator started moving towards the age of three. We’re only just over a month away from the next birthday, the one that was supposed to free us from the “oh so terrible and frightening twos” and suddenly The Dictator is full of ideas, wants, needs, and thoughts that quite simply don’t align with my own. Just moments before I sat down to write this very post I had asked Jacob if he would prefer an english muffin or regular toast for his breakfast, to which he replied that he most assuredly did NOT want the english muffin – because I know better, I asked him a second time, this time adding a very stressed ARE YOU SURE????? to the end of my question and he responded that he was sure. I made the toast and gave into his request to have peanut butter (for more on the peanut butter fascination read this) and I sliced the toast diagonally across before putting it onto his plate with a piece of fruit and then I heard it…..
“I DIDN’T WANT MY TOAST CUT INTO TRIANGLES, I WANTED IT CUT INTO RECTANGLES!!!”
From the kitchen I take a deep breath and head back to the table with a sort of smile on my face replying that “triangles are fun! look how fun those triangles are!” to which The Dictator assures me that triangles are not fun, triangles are bad and toast should be made into rectangles, always…no matter what. Now, I can assure you that while this conversation doesn’t seem too annoying at all, try to imagine it in the most screeching whiny voice that ever escaped your child’s lips, coupled with a look of real tragedy on his face – oh yes, I’d rather listen to fingernails scrapping down a chalk board. Somehow, I managed to convince him that triangle toast tastes just as delicious as rectangle toast and that he should give it a little try…he gives me a look that says “you’re so wrong, but I’ll humor you” as he takes a bite and remarks in a voice that is just as whiny as it is profound…..
“I DIDN’T WANT TOAST, I ONLY WANTED AN ENGLISH MUFFIN!!”
Oh yes, the terrible two’s were not so terrible….
I’m pretty sure it’s the Terrifying Three’s that we should all be warned about.