Terrible Two's is an understatement.
It should be called the apocolyptic two's.
Or the absolute-edge-of-sanity-two's
Or the one-more-day-like-this-and-I'm-going-to-shoot-myself-in-the-face-two's.
You catch my drift.
It's amazing how sweet and kind and bright little Carter is. Sometimes I look at the two of us together and I have myself convinced that I am doing a great job; I am the best mom in the world. Eat your heart out. Sometimes I see him holding hands with Mike, walking through the parking lot into the grocery store and my heart just swells with pride and love.
Other times, I have days like today. The whining and nagging and screaming starts at 8 in the morning and does not relent until 8 at night. No matter what I do. I make every effort in the world to please my son. Oftentimes, I go overboard and make life far too easy for him, sometimes I know I don't discipline him, sometimes I give him treats even though he's being a total brat just to shut him up. But I also know that I am a cool mom and I am always trying something new to keep him entertained and engaged, and I always try to incorporate education into all of our activities. I am not perfect, not by a long shot. And on days like today, that is never more evident.
I took the short man and the baby (baby strapped to my chest, 2 year old holding my hand) to the grocery store up the street to get tomatoes and onions. I've done this on good days and everything's gone fine. Great, even. But today was bad. He insisted that we take his lightning mcqueen car, and then he insisted on pushing it on the sidewalk alllllllll the way to the grocery store. Fine, whatever. I guess. Oliver is teething so he's not being an angel either, but whatever, he's pushing the car, everything's fine. We eventually get there. Carter is grabbing all kinds of fruit and yum yum's, as he calls every sugary thing he can find, and just dropping random shit all aver the grocery store. I pick some things up, but having 20 pounds strapped to your chest and a 2-year old who won't hold your hand is severely limiting when you never excercise and you smoke cigarettes, so some things just stay on the ground. And some tomatoes end up beside the baby food. What? I'm not super-woman. I'm just trying to get through a grocery trip sp I can make my hard-working husband some dinner for a change.
Eventually, I wrangle the three of us to the express lane; all the while wondering what happened to the sweet little baby that I gave life to in March 2010. Then, as Carter spots the Kinder eggs, I realize that that sweet little baby is gone. My 2 year old terror is now asserting his own independence in a world that just doesn't agree with him. But, remembering that we handicap our children when we make life easy for them, I choose the tantrum over giving in. What a scene.
Dirty looks from every direction. 3 people ahead of me in line while I just pray that not every last one of them is paying with debit (which they are) while Carter throws himself on the floor kicking and screaming and embarrassing me. Sticking to my guns. No matter what. He runs, I run, baby starts crying because he has smacked his head into my bonier-than-normal collarbones as I pick up Carter and now have to carry over 50 pounds, plus a full grocery bag 6 blocks home.
Carter is freaking out the entire way home and when we get there, I remember my mother's tried and true method and I carry that little bugger all the way upstairs and into his bed. And I say to him you get all of your crying out, and when you're nice and calm you come out of your room and give mommy a kiss, okay?
Well it wasn't 40 seconds later whan he emerges from his room, red and bleary-eyed and looking for some kisses. Nice and calm.
For about 10 minutes.