The truth and comedy of being a wife and mother
Darren’s eyes are shooting fire. His brow is puckered and he had lowered his forehead to adequately give me his angry eyes; pretty much the picture of unholy displeasure. He throws his head back and forth and hits me to accentuate his point.
“No, Darren. Hitting is naughty. Timeout!”
He growls at me and tries to scootch his way out of the timeout corner.
Calmly I plop him back down.
“Timeout. Sit there.”
Another “No, Mommy!” is accompanied with a bunch of mad toddler jibberish.
Which I ignore.
Which prompts Darren’s eyes to go liquid; his frown melts into a pudgy pout. His anger softens and his body turns all cuddly. He reached out his arms to for a hug.
“I sorry Mommy.” He sniffles. “I sorry.”
Mentally, I role my eyes; where did he learn how to turn it on an off like that?
“You need to sit there until you calm down.”
I am told my child hardly ever acts like this. He has a few timeouts at daycare, which is to be expected.
When he is at grandma’s he is always ‘really good, no timeouts!’
And of course, I swear he is the always on best behavior for daddy too.
But in my presence he turns into a toddler who has an attitude of a fourteen year-old and a temper that has me questioning if he should be taking toddler anger management classes.
My mother assures me that I am luckily not the only mom who has become Pbulic Enemy Number One.
That’s a relief to know.
Then I remember he turns two in a month and a half.
Welcome to the TERRIBLE TWOs!