I’ve only experienced having children ages 6 and under, but so far, I have to say 2 is my favorite age. So much so that I’ve been telling Tom repeatedly these past few months that I hope we always have a two year old in the house. Seriously.
*for the record, I think the ‘terrible twos’ really don’t begin until 3.
At 2, finally it feels like this ‘being’ you’ve dedicated 3 years of your life to is becoming an incommunicable human! We can actually see a personality, finally hear delectable words and adorable mispronunciations. It is so hard to not laugh when a two year old gets upset. I mean, once you get done banging your head against a wall and actually note how hysterical they look trying to stuff adult amount of emotion into a cantaloupe sized face.
My two year old just turned three and he wasted no time in helping me usher in the terrible threes. Within a week of his third birthday, he managed to flood both of my bathrooms… in a span of a day. Day 1 consisted of me hearing him upstairs ‘washing his hands’ for which I continued unloading groceries, making dinner, and later realzed that ‘huh. he’s still washing his hands.’ Upon sending his father up to investigate, I heard deep, operatic-like tones of concern (shall we say?) for our floor, kitchen ceiling and other fixtures swashing in the deluge. I think we had just recieved our tax refund that morning. The irony of it all.
Me: (cartwheels, pom poms, throwing confetti)” YAY MONEY I HAVE A MILLION PROJECTS I WANT TO SPEND THIS ON RIGHT NOW!!!”
Reality: (sticking out it’s tounge, laughing hysterically, literally rolling on the floor laughing) “The drain was purposely plugged and the spigot turned to the side, running water down your sink cabinet for approximately 20 mintues. Unless you want to be living in a mold infested house, buckle up and start ordering sheetrock and tile. Bye, bye, moola”.
Then, the next morning, he repeated the same action in my downstairs bathroom. While I was trapped nursing an infant. It was a grizzly week in the Thimons’ house.
I greeted subsequent weeks with the newly transformed three year old with great trepedation. I discoverd a beautiful self portrait in Sharpie on an unfinished antique desk from the 1800’s. Also, the typical poop- your- pants- and- take- the- diaper- off- on- the- rug-and-run-and-hide schtick. He only did that like three times.
Then there was him pouring a full glass of water all over my living room rug, on purpose. And when the crazy lady came flying into the room flipping out, he merely stood there calmly and defended himself
“I wanted my lego guy to go swimming.”
As if I was the ludicrous one in the room.
This third time through three feels particularly spicy, with a side of delirious. I feel like the other ones weren’t as…sharp? Witty? Sarcastic?…. Exhausting??
He has the audacity, every week for nearly a month to say this to me:
Me (desperate, begging, tears in my eyes) “Hey buddy! How about we do some potty training today?”
Him (not even looking at me. walking away. Spitting into the dust)”Maybe on Saturday. Ok?”
(For the record every Saturday he tells me Sunday, and so on and so forth until I blink my eyes crazily and start to wonder who is really in charge here)
This past week, during potty training he really brought his game. He was nodding his head along with my instructions about keeping underwear dry, telling me if he had to go, etc… and he literally was mouthing ‘yeah, yeah….’ to me as I’m running through the rules of the game. In my head I scoffed ‘ Don’t even. Your the one that’s still pooping your pants...” (I also have said this to him out loud before, and he told me, totally unphased ‘ I don’t poop my pants. I poop my diaper.” Which made me feel like such an idiot, I keep my comments to myself now. )
So anyway, I’m giving him the run down and he’s yes-ing me to death. Finally we get to the good part,
Me: “Ok so I’ve got M&M’s when you go! OK?”
His eyebrows go up, interested.
Me: “So you get one M&M for pee pee…… and TWO M&M’s for poopy!”
Him, not missing a beat, : “And one M&M if I fart?”
Ah but for all those spicy sarcastic three year old moments, there’s every now and then a purely delicious one that makes me wish I could always keep them in a bottle. Mostly those overly confident ones, since three year olds are notiorously overly confident fools. Enormous bravado. (So much so that I overheard my said three year old, hitting on our 10 year old neighbor girl, ” Uh so I use to be the baby, but Max is the baby now. I’m three. Yeah. I’m not the baby anymore.” If he has that much confidence when he’s 13, I’m in big trouble.)
Anyway, my particularly favorite moment comes while we were picking out his church pants. He was trying several of them on, a few pairs were too short. On the next pair of khakis, again, we found too short!
“Man!” I shook my head in disbelief, ” You are just TOO big!”
His squinty eyes shot up at me, “What? I’m not too big! I’m PERFECT!”
Yes, I wrestled him to the ground in a hug. Seriously. That was the cutest thing I ever heard.
How can they be so sarcastic and sweet at the same time? Of course you’re perfect, buddy. We love you. Happy (VERY BELATED) Birthday. **
**This post has been in a draft folder for 5 months. #mommyisdefinitelynotperfect