I am just wondering what I did in my previous life/childhood that was so egregious to deserve what I am now getting in spades.
You can call it what you want - a phase, the terrible two's, typical toddler behavior. I prefer to refer to it much more simply: HELL.
Tank is a non-stop, whiny, emotional, temper-tantrum throwing, shall we say, pain in the rear?
We had glimpses of it earlier this year, and then it was like a switch flipped in daycare. Now its his basic M.O.
He pushes the other kids in his class, throws Legos at their heads, doesn't listen, routinely whacks his classmates in the ear with trucks, and hits his teachers.
Now its a rare day where he ISN'T put in timeout for some transgression. Usually he's in the doghouse at least twice. And he's acting out at home too - he swats (read: hits) me on the arm every time I make him do something he doesn't like.
He's clingy...grabbing my legs and following me -- literally attached to my body -- from room to room. If he doesn't get what he wants, he whines. And its not a normal whine.
Its one of those high pitched, never ending sounds that only dogs are meant to hear, at a decibel that makes the brain matter start to ooze out your ears.
We've tried time outs. Ignoring him. Being firm. Yelling. You name it. We've bought books with fantastic titles like "No Hitting" and "Sharing Time" and "Don't Kick the Dog." We've talked to his pediatrician, had "conferences" with his daycare teachers.
The general consensus is that we better buckle up, strap in, and buy some earplugs and body pads, because this "phase" could last a while.
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| To you, it may look like breakfast. But really he's plotting against me. |
I have to admit...I am not just frustrated. I am a little worried. Have we turned Scott into a juvenile delinquent already? If he can cause this much trouble at 22 months, what the hell am I going to do when he's 8? 13? 17?
All of a sudden I am having all these flashbacks to every rotten thing I did as a kid - destroying my parents coffee table with nail polish remover, mouthing off to my mom, backing the family car through the garage door. (That was, yes, one of my finer moments.)
None of these were fatal mistakes, to be sure. But surely somewhere there is a cosmic scorecard and that's why my child has turned into a white-haired, cherubic-faced demon, right? (For those of you who just conjured up an image of "Children of the Corn"...well, you wouldn't be far off.)
I had someone tell me I should be grateful - at least he's not biting. Somehow, that is of small comfort. I mean, can you imagine how that conversation would go on the playground?
Parent #1: You're kid isn't the biter, is he?
Me: NO! He knows better than that. He's the blond one over there who likes hitting other kids in the face with plastic and metal toys when he's upset.
Yeah, I don't see that helping me set up a lot of playdates.
I am sure in 15 years, I'll laugh about this. In 20, I'll embarrass Scott by sharing these stories with his friends and girlfriends, and I'll gleefully exact some measure of revenge in doing so.
But in the meantime, does anyone know if the Marine Corps offers some sort of boot camp for toddlers?
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