Andy, my two-year-old, is a bundle of joy. He’s funny, smart, kind, and his happy giggles crack the ice on my cold, dead heart. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for this kid. Every night when I put him to bed, I tell him how glad I am to be his mother. But God almighty, his tantrums make me want to stroll into a bear cave wearing a bacon sweater.
They all start the same – I’ll ask him a simple question; one that’s easily answered, and his back stiffens, his chin drops, and he growls the word “no”. Sometimes I disassociate and pretend I’m the narrator in a documentary on wild animals: “observe the mother’s increasing anxiety. Her pupils have dilated, and her heart beats rapidly. A thin line of sweat is seen on her upper lip. Her child is scowling furiously, furrowing his brow. The mother desperately tries to distract her offspring with a stuffed duck and…… oh! He’s thrown the duck onto the shoe rack. Now, the mother bends down, speaking softly and soothingly. She calmly asks her child what’s wrong, encouraging him to ‘use his words’. This infuriates the child, and he aggressively stomps his foot and screams ‘no! NO! NO!’. Having decided to ignore the child to discourage his poor behaviour, the mother walks into another room. This upsets the child immensely (despite having refused his mother’s help) and he loses all control. Let’s go in for a closer look as he screeches and flails on the floor.”
Andy’s worst tantrum happened two weeks ago, when I took him and his sister Molly to the park. I ruined his fun by not letting him play hide-and-seek in the busy parking lot (I’m so cruel), and he threw a DEFCON Level 5, ear-splitting fit. After distraction, explaining, and ultimatums didn’t work, I eventually walked ten feet away to the swings and left him sitting on the wet ground, shrieking over and over the word “NO!” I’ve got to hand it to him – Andy has the lungs of an opera singer. After fifteen painfully long minutes, he eventually lost steam and wandered over to Molly and me. My first instinct was to wring him out like a dirty mop, but I told him “I’m glad you calmed down” and gave him a hug. Two minutes later, he was giggling happily, but my emotions clenched around my gut. I was angry, embarrassed, and ashamed; why couldn’t he just listen to me? Everything I do is to keep him safe and healthy, and playing “dodge-the-Escalade” in a parking lot is a terrible idea!
“He’s just a baby,” my husband Jeremy constantly reminds me. “He’s still learning.” Why can’t he learn faster? It’s a good thing toddlers are cute, because I would’ve left him at Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory a year ago. My plan for now is to wait this phase out. I made it through breastfeeding, sleep-training, and projectile-vomiting – I can make it through the terrible twos. But will I survive with my sanity and nerves intact? With a functioning sense of humour? NO!
