Something terrible has happened.
It came without warning. It caught us completely by surprise. It’s just…it’s just…
Oliver, has turned into a two year old.
I don’t say “turned two,” because Oliver turned two a few months ago. It hasn’t been until this past month that he’s officially turned into a two year old. Much like normal human beings can turn into ware wolves, so too do some sweet little babies turn into two year olds.
The wining. The screeeching. The tantrums. Ohhh. The tantrums.
When Theo went through this stage, I naively thought it was some sort of character flaw on his part. But now…Now I know the truth:
Two year olds are awful. They are simply the worst.
As I’m writing this, he is behind me “playing” with a truck on the sofa. And by playing, of course, I mean he is screaming and beating the sofa and the truck for reasons completely lost on me. I’m sure he knows, but all I hear is a cacophony of angry yelling and smashing.
Ah. Two year olds.
This transformation is particularly brutal to see in Oliver, my sweet baby O. He has always been the sweet one. The cuddly one. The one with a teeny, pip squeek of a voice. The one with grubby little boy hands and wet, slobbery kisses.
His voice still has an adorable softness to it, but most days it’s raised in an angry screech. He yells at his brother. He yells at his toys. He yells at any moving animal.
He still loves to give kisses and hugs, but they are interspersed among the smacks and punches.
“No,” “Don’t want to,” and caveman like grunts have replaced his normal “I love you T-O-dore” (Theodore).
I know this is just as phase. I know this won’t last for ever. And of course I love my children no matter who they are or what they do or what phase of life they are in.
But I DO NOT LIKE TWO YEAR OLDS.
Here, my little darling is yelling: “Nooooo! DON’T PICTURE ME!!!!” Ahh. Bless his sweet little heart (she said through clenched teeth).