Will

I’m not really sure what the terrible two’s look like for everyone else, but as best as I can tell, for her it means a collision between her incredibly strong will and the ability to express or achieve it. Sometimes it’s not subtle what she wants but I decide she shouldn’t have it. But more often, I can’t tell what she wants, or she wants to do something by herself but can’t.

It’s quite amazing, this will thing. What is so amazing is not so much what she wants but how badly she wants it, and how specifically she wants it: not just a what, but a when (NOW) and a how. She wants the cucumbers, but not for me to hand her one, or put one on her plate; she wants me to bring the whole bowl of cucumbers over, set it on the table precisely where she’s pointing, and stab them with a fork. She wants to read a book with me on the chair, but not sitting on my lap—she wants to squeeze her butt next to mine on the same chair, but only after laying her blanket down, wrinkle-free, exactly where she plans to plop said butt.

And she wants all of it now. As in, mind-readingly fast. That apple juice should just appear refilled in my cup; I don’t get why it takes you five seconds to actually retrieve it from the fridge, unscrew my cup top, and pour it in. I’ve tried explaining the concept of patience to her, which I realize is completely idiotic but makes me feel better.

The worst is probably when I don’t understand what she’s saying. She keeps repeating herself over and over, growing increasingly frustrated and tearful, while I actually feel sort of mentally incompetent, like any other person would understand what “ba-duh” means but I don’t (it means pickle apparently). Today I figured out that “do-do,” in addition to meaning dog, her pacifier, and her bib, also now means crackers.

So you can imagine things get pretty exhausting. I chalk it up to her developing a will, but lacking the conceptual and contextual understanding of why what she wants, in the way and time that she wants it, isn’t necessarily good or possible. I sometimes forget how differently my mind works than hers; how she lacks the ability to think beyond the concrete, to understand time, or to think of anything other than herself and how she feels.

I think this is how God must see us often. His mind, his way, is higher than mine infinitely more than mine is higher than a two year-old’s. I think back on the things I’ve wanted so badly in life: to conceive at a certain time, to not feel this pain, to do it on my own. What I really want is for E to gladly submit her will to mine, to trust me, because I love her: how much more must God desire this of us?

But of course the beautiful thing about her will is now she can show her affection, and this is a wonderful thing: to hear her ask for my hand to hold, call me alone “ma-ma,” feel her run up to hug me from behind. She even once said she loved me (“ai4 nee3”) though it could have been an accident. Tonight I thought that’s what she was saying but it turned out she wanted to watch “er-nie” on sesame street.