Scene: I awaken to the night-dark rooms that are illuminated only by the faint glow of the bathroom night light. As my iron heavy eyelids fall back down to meet their lower counter parts, I hear the light thud of tiny feet as they run from one side of the play room to the other. A door opens, more pitter-patters and then the screeching begins. Apparently our home is being invaded and it’s up to the tiniest member of our family to sound the alarm.
Our little two year-old is beginning to exert her independence. In the sweetest of little voices it’s all “I can do it.”, “My turn.” Then there’s my personal favorite, “Mine.” This adorable, sweet little miss has turned into a tyrant. The husband and I are often left flabbergasted at the sheer force of her random and permanent twitch inducing screams. It’s as if we are in some prison camp and she is the interrogator sent to break us so we divulge all our parenting secrets. The erratic sleep patterns and noise over-stimulation is meant to wear us down. I would have to say it’s beginning to work.
It’s not all screaming fits of independence mixed with tantrums for candy 24/7. There are sweet moments where we snuggle with the book of the day. When we are out in public she is the picture perfect model of behavior. Waving and smiling to all who come across her path. We are nearing the end of our diaper wearing days. She can eat a meal with most of it making it into her mouth and not on the floor. I don’t need to use sippy cups all the time. These are the bright spots amidst the stormy clouds of her toddler rage.
I’ll end with a quote from a wise friend:
The days are long but the years are short.
That will be the banner I hold up.