Ah age 2. Definitely my favourite age so far… *guffaws loudly*
Ok there are some brilliant things about this age but holy hell there are some amazingly infuriating, hair-pulling moments. I’m surprised there are not more parents of two year olds addicted to alcohol or crystal meth (right now I survive with Oreos and tea, but who knows what kind of addiction programme I’ll be signed up to by the end of this second year?!)
Right now we are at Center Parcs and having a pretty good time considering we are here with the teeny tiny terrorist. We’ve managed a 3 course meal (thank The Lord for the children’s play area in Bella Italia), plenty of outdoor play and a pottery painting class with only a few minor altercations.
Tuesday would not be tuesday without a few tiny meltdowns about absolutely nothing though, so here we go…
- Imagine going for a nice walk, where your toddler insists on walking and not sitting in their buggy. They’ve got this, walking is easy. Five (ok two) minutes later you hear the dreaded ‘up, up’. We pretend not to notice. The wheedling worsens: ‘Daddee peas up up’ The husband and I put on our best Jo Frost determined faces and coax The toddler to continue walking: ‘oh look a puddle” ‘who can run faster, daddy or Atti?’ ‘OH LOOK, A SQUIRREL!’ The Toddler sits down and then, infuriatingly, waves at us. I’ve clearly done the ‘bye Atti, mummy’s leaving’ one too many times and he’s now beating us at our our pissing game. Arghhhh.
- Waking from a nice 2.5 hour nap, you’d expect your toddler to be refreshed and rejuvenated for the rest of the day right? Wrong. We have tears. We have ‘don’t look at me’ arms waving in our face. We have drink refusal, then arms outstretched for said drink, before drink is lobbed across the room. Give. Me. Strength.
- The sight of a playground fills me with an odd mix of euphoria and dread. Euphoria as the toddler can go off and give me 5 minutes peace to take a breath (read check Facebook) and dread because I know no matter how many times we give him the ‘one last turn’ warning, he’s going to freak when it’s time to leave. Today was not too horrendous as I was able to coerce/bribe with the mummy of the year line: ‘we’re going to have lunch now, we can have pizza!’ #JamieOlivereatyourheartout
- ‘I want to touch the squirrel’. Not me, the toddler. Cue simple explanations of how we can look but not touch, squirrels can be mean blah blah blah. Of course the warnings fall on death ears and he continues to edge towards the squirrel. The husband intervenes and pulls him away which of course goes down like a sack of shit.
- Bedtime. The home straight. Pheeeewwwww. But time for one last shit fit. ‘What book would you like mummy to read you Atti?’ ‘Noooo, noooo mama, daddeeee, daddeeeeeee!’ I’d be offended, but this turn of events means I can relax on the sofa with something suitably calorific and catch up on the world outside the teeny tiny terrorists stronghold.
And that was Tuesday. Someone pass me the wine.