So, my baby’s at that age where he wants to use a spoon by himself, roll hot wheels across my face during bedtime and eat lip balm, despite my best efforts to redirect, hide and tirelessly explain to my toddler what lip balm is and why it does not belong in his mouth. If I didn’t know any better I might be tempted to panic, “Uh oh, here come the terrible twos”, but I’m well seasoned and I know this is just a myth veterans use as a joke to play on the rookies; a right of passage if you will.
“Beware high winds”, you lose your balance and a gust blows you on your butt. You get up rattled yet relieved and as soon as the warning passes a tornado comes along and takes off with your house. Yeah, three year olds are the tornado!
I know better. I know to savour his cuddles and the food he throws on the floor. I know to smile as he brings me his shoes, even though he cries when it’s time to take them off. He says, “k” when I ask him to clean up his blocks, and even though he throws 2 at his sister in the process, I know that his cooperation is still an incredibly precious thing. He screams for fun, because the sound entertains him, and I scoop him up and tickle him and he screams some more. He pushes my hand away when I offer him yogurt instead of applesauce and I’m grateful because I know that giving him applesauce will actually be the solution. I know to hold dear his mild resistance and amateur tantrums, because I know what awaits. In a flash this time will be gone and an impossible beast of fury will arrive, blowing my house across the plains; my sweet boy will be a threenager!
I know how much I will miss these moments, so I am cherishing every single one.