The Terrible Twos

You would think that when your child started to go through the 'terrible twos' (although I've been assured that these last for years, which is not an encouraging thing to say to a mother expecting another baby in four months) you would blame bad behaviour on THEM.  On their hormones and growth spurts and whatever else contributes to the terribleness of being two-ish.  But for the last few days I've just felt awful, like I must be the problem, and all that ends up doing is making me cranky and depressed.

Case in point: yesterday.  Yesterday Samuel woke up at 5:30am.  He yelled from his little baby cage in the next room until David got up and got him and brought him into our bed while I ran to have bathroom break #68 of the short morning.  On the way back to the bedroom I grabbed a sippy cup of water and a bowl of cheerios.  I let Sam nurse for about 45 minutes and then fed him the water and cereal while I tried to at least wait for dawn before getting up.  After a bit, he turned the radio on and read books loudly to David and I before eventually getting up to forage for more food.

I gave him toast and oranges and what have you for breakfast, David took over and changed his diaper and I went to work for a few hours.  During the hours I was gone David and Samuel went for a long walk, had leftover hot turkey for lunch, played in the livingroom and had a nap.

By the time I got home it was about 1pm.  We went to Subway and bought ham sandwiches to take to playgroup, where Samuel spent a happy hour and a half playing with his friends, drinking countless cups of juice and generally enjoying himself.  After playgroup we walked over to say hello to David at work and then spent 45 minutes in the library colouring, picking out books and DVDs to borrow and annoying childless patrons.

By the time we got home it was around 4:30.  I spread a quilt on the sofa, changed Sam into something comfortable, peeled him another orange and got him a drink, turned off the lights and plugged in the Christmas tree for him to look at, and put on his new library DVD that told stories about bears and snow, two of his favourite topics.  Then I said: "buddy, Mama is going to go to the bathroom, make a cup of tea and check her email.  You stay here and watch your movie."

And all heck broke loose.

It just wasn't working out, me leaving him alone for twenty minutes one room away, and that was driving me crazy.  For 13 hours, Samuel had had one or another parent's undivided attention, and now I was asking for time that didn't involve him, and it was a disaster.  I know, intellectually, that he was expressing unhappiness at being 'left alone' as he saw it, and that he wanted to participate in what Mama was doing, which clearly had to be more exciting than what he was being told to do, and blah blah blah, but really, I was frustrated!  I wanted my 21 month old to look at me in that moment and realize "whoa, that woman needs a coffee and fast!  I'd better sit here, in complete comfort and relaxation, and watch this movie and eat this orange and give her a moment to collect herself and possibly go to the bathroom alone.  Yes, I'd better do that."  Instead, he screamed, and followed me like a pathetic puppy around the house hollering "Up!  Up!" to be picked up as I tried to spend a few minutes on myself.

It's just life with a toddler, but it's hard to be rational about it when you've slept for five hours the night before and are terrified of doing this with a newborn in tow in less than a season.