Two-year-olds are fun! Dear god, help me!

A while back Henry turned two, and on that day I said something on this blog about what a wonderful, upstanding citizen he’s turned into, how full of sweetness and light.

And then a few hours after his birthday had ended, we were sitting down for a pleasant Play-Doh filled afternoon when he said to me, “Dearest mother, would you like to see something funny?” and he turned his head away and tugged at his chin and his beaming rosy-cheeked face slipped off his skull and what turned back to me was a screeching demon-boy who went BLALALALALALALALAAAAAIIII.

And just like that, My Baby became The Asshole In the Other Room.

I have dubbed him this because I am often forced to flee from him. Because while I can handle a few minutes of deafening shrieks, hours and hours of it tends to make the nerves itch. It tends to make one want to claw at one’s gums until blood issues forth.

He’s having some tantrums, is what I’m saying.

He’s had a few tantrums before. But not these tantrums. The other tantrums were amusing previews of the epic horror that was to come. Before Two arrived, if he became frustrated he would periodically throw himself to the ground and carry on for, say, ten or twenty minutes. During which time I would endeavor to figure out the source of the trouble, and he would weep and rend his garments and exclaim that no one understood him; eventually communication would be established and we would dry our tears and have cookies and sing, tra la la. La. And oh! What a fine and good parent I was, back then! See how happy my son was! And it was all my doing, hoo-ray for me!

So a few days After Two, he woke up from his nap and was a little out of sorts. The first thing he requests in such a case is TV. But I had decided that he had had too much TV that day, and after all we have baskets and baskets of toys, and maybe we could just cuddle for a while, wouldn’t that be---

But no. He did not want cuddling. Dear god no.

This is when the screaming began. I explained to him that television would not be in the offing. That we had watched enough. That television was “all done.” That the television was “sleeping.” (Why do I feel the need to anthropomorphize every household object? The other day he pulled a stack of towels down to the ground and then kissed them to “make it all better.” I’ve created a kid who is afraid that our dishrags might think ill of him.)

Anyway. He wanted the television to wake up.

Have I mentioned that he’s over 35 pounds? That he wears clothing made for four-year-olds, and he’s almost broken my head on several occasions? Just so you understand—the screaming in and of itself, while painful, is just part of the tantrum experience. The rest of it—the punching and kicking, the hair-pulling, the climbing up my body like a furious toddler-sized King Kong—is what generally sets me to running. And because The Law thinks it’s a bad idea for me to lock him in an apartment unattended*, blar de blar, my only escape is to the other room. Which is where I went.

(*Once, when I was bemoaning being trapped at home because I couldn’t go out with Henry, a friend of mine suggested, “Just light a candle. Because you’re not supposed to leave a candle unattended either, so, you know, you could leave the two of them together.” I don’t know why that struck me as so funny. I clearly didn’t write it funny enough right here. Forget I said anything.**)

(**Note that I could have just deleted it, but leaving it here gives my blog a certain immediacy, a gritty dose of reality that is missing from so many other blogs. Hi! Welcome to Finslippy!)

This entry is quickly losing steam and I have to go to bed. My point is that he screamed for TWO HOURS. (Not all of it with me in the other room, I should add. I left him for all of two minutes. His weeping was too pathetic, and so I was tricked into joining him again so he could punch me some more. Joke's on me!)

And do you know what happened that ended the tantrum? Do you know why he stopped crying?

C’mon. Guess. I want you to guess. Here’s a clue: the answer is not “I didn’t turn on the television, that’s for sure!”

p.s. I hate me.

Comments

[Joy]

I have a 2 year old, god I have tried everything in the book it feels like... i was just about to give up... i spent 3hours crying after an 2hour screaming event. I went online to maybe get some feedback on if i was going insane, seriously thought i was i keep thinking what happened to that ADORABLE little angel that i had a month or two ago.... Thanks to everyone i may be going insane, but i think i will wait until she is 18 for my personal well being.... all i can think is "they're coming to take me away haha hehe hoho to the happy home where life is wonderful all the, and i'll be happy to see those nice young men in there clean white coats!!!" ;)