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Twos are More than Terrible
Technically, these are the Terrible Two-and-a-halfs. We got a six-month grace period before the hurricane hit our house. And thank the sweet Baby Jesus for that.
The twos are no joke. My once always sweet little blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl has the ability to mimic Linda Blair in The Exorcist at the drop of a sippy cup. The meltdowns come from every angle.
She will melt down if I ask her to put on her shoes before we leave the house. She will launch into a fit if there is juice and not milk in her cup. She will freak if her sister touches a certain toy. She will howl if I can’t find the song she wants to hear at that exact moment in time on the radio. And other times, these exact things won’t bother her in the least.
The mature, level-headed me knows that this is all a product of the fact that HJ’s frontal lobe isn’t fully developed and she doesn't yet know how to react rationally... yadda yadda, blah blah blah. The other part of me watches as she hurls her body to the floor in a fit of rage and wonders why God sent a tiny terrorist to my house two and a half years ago.
Seriously, who IS this child? And why is she kind of a jerk?
As quickly as it comes on, the storm will pass and she'll climb up into my lap and snuggle. My head is spinning and I'm learning patience from places in my soul I did not know existed. Holy crap.
This must be what my husband felt like when I was pregnant. The mood swings, the fits of rage, and the passion behind simply telling her it’s time to put on some pants can bring you to drinking at 10 a.m. It’s rough.
For instance, last night we made our bi-weekly trek to the local home improvement store (we're renovating our kitchen/dining room). HJ was attempting to scale boxes of tile, piles of carpet and (the straw that broke the camel’s back) shelves of GLASS light fixtures. She was banished to the cart with B. You can imagine the howls that lasted for three aisles. The horrific sounds that my husband and I were desperately trying to shush summoned an employee over to make sure no one was dying. Obviously a dad or grandpa himself, he pulled a piece of candy from his pocket and it was as if the skies opened up and rained hearts and flowers in the neon lighting section. HJ went back to her adorably precious, smiley self. Bless that man.
It’s mind numbingly frustrating. Sometimes the tantrums come on so quickly and seemingly unprovoked that I will just sit back and watch in awe. The girl is nothing short of dedicated to her current emotional state. It’s kind of impressive at times. I wish I had the ability to feel that passionately about anything, let alone the amount of chocolate syrup in my milk.
I was lamenting over this recently with a friend who had gone through the same types of things with her now preschooler. She laughed with me and gave me encouragement that I wasn't scarring her for life in any way. Then she said, “I have to tell you though, this is nothin’. Just wait till she turns three.”
Friends are mean.