I lost my temper. I got mad at a (nearly) two year old who is teething or going through a growth spurt or has needs and wants she can’t express. I got upset over her cries. Her reaching for me only to throw herself back when I pick her up, as if my touch makes her skin crawl.
I got angry. She refused to let me change her diaper. She pushed herself across the floor, arching her back. I ripped the diaper trying to strap it on. I hit the floor and yelled and saw my anger reflected in her scared little face. I want to be the loving and understanding and incredibly patient parent at all times. But. I wasn’t. Not this time.
I lost it. I wished I could walk away. I wished she could just tell me what she freaking wants. I wished I could take her sadness and fury away. I wished away the terrible twos (and threes). I wished I could put her to bed an hour early and know she would just go the f to sleep.
I cried. I apologized and cried. She stopped crying. She looked at me and asked to read a book. She melted in my arms and looked at me with confused and nervous eyes as I cried and read and cried again. She read along with me, pointing out her colors and counting the shoes on the page. I cried again and gave kisses and hugs and cried some more.
I put her to bed early and walked out and the tears continued. We cried together, in different rooms, weary from a rough day and pains from growing and change.
The twos are hard. I know this. I have been around enough kids for enough time to know this. But this is different. With your own kid it’s different. I can ignore the whininess and the temper tamptrums, but I can’t ignore her sadness. I want to take and ball it up and throw it all away. I want to make her pain hurt so she doesn’t have to anymore. I want her to feel relief, and I too want to feel some.
I know it’s a phase. I know the twos are also so fun and precious and full of so many changes and advancement. But man, the twos are hard. On all of us.