Terrible Two's

I remember when someone first mentioned the terrible two’s, I was like, what? Ellie was at the time just turning two and still easy-going. They say there are two golden periods for kids: a year (sleeping through the night generally) until eighteen months (before the terrible two’s), and six years (post-terrible two’s, which really should be terrible three’s and sometimes four’s) until nine years (pre-puberty).

Well, Ellie’s first golden period lasted longer than usual. When the terrible two’s hit eventually, I was like, oh, I see. When they hit with Eric, I was like OH I SEE. Elijah’s in the thick of it now—he’s two-and-a-half—and I’m reminded again what it’s all about.

In a way, it’s sort of comical. The terrible two’s are saying no to literally everything (“no! don’t want to!”). It’s wanting to climb into the van and get buckled on his own (“ja-ja do it!”) even though he can’t actually do it and takes forever trying (“come on, Elijah!” the others are always saying. “Ja-ja slow,” he replies). It’s always having a vocal preference (“want that one!” “don’t have poop!”). It’s getting overly emotional over minor perturbances (“shirt wet!” “blankie not right!”). It’s displaying touchy possessiveness (“mine!” “got it first!”) and being sensitive to exclusion (“wait for me!”). It’s tending towards exclamation points or wails, towards demand or distress.

At heart, I think it’s him desiring independence, but not being able to actualize that most of the time, leading to a need for verbal assertion and frequent frustration. I think of this time as a little preview of the teen years. It’s saying a last goodbye to the spirit of infancy: I’m glad at least that he still has slightly chubby thighs and a protuberant tummy. It’s the emergency of a new self, and in that sense a window into all the things we basically desire as a person: having a sense of achievement and purpose, feeling included and special. Just, you know, in super-unfiltered fashion. That’s how kids are, though. Unfiltered little pieces of humanity, running around in all their loud-talking, messily exuberant glory.

That’s what I’ve got, four little pieces of glory running around here this week while Dave’s gone. If I see things that way, can see the strange sort of irony in a still-infant-like boy making loud demands, it helps traverse these stages of transition with humor and equanimity. And that certainly helps a lot.