First class ticket to the Terrible Twos

standard July 3, 2009 5 responses

If I had been in any denial that in 30 days Little L will be 2, tonight blew away any lingering delusions.

First let me start by saying, TWO? She’s going to be TWO? How is that even possible? And how is it possible that I’m still not sleeping through the night consistently?

Now let me tell you about the tantrum of the year.

I have one simple dinner rule: you don’t have to eat it, you don’t have to like it, but you do have to taste it. One bite. You can even spit out that bite, I don’t care, not as long as the food makes it past your lips just once.

I’ve even figured out the no hassle, no stress way to get my kids to do just that. First I ask them to give the bite a kiss, then a lick, and finally a tiny bite. They’re girls, this usually works.

Note how I said usually.

Tonight Little L decided that the only way her popcorn shrimp (which she usually eats without a fuss) would only pass her lips was if Hell froze over, chickens flew backwards, and I managed to pry her mouth open with a crowbar. Needless to say, she didn’t take her bite.

I was actually fine with that. She’s the one who wasn’t fine with the no cookie consequence.

She howled when I took her out of her highchair. She howled when I carried her to the bathroom. She howled while I filled the bathtub. She threw herself on the floor and pounded her fists and feet on the floor when I tried to pull off her clothes.

She screamed when I put her in the tub. She screamed while I shampooed her hair. She screamed while I washed her body and then rinsed her hair and body.

She went back to howling when I pulled her out and wrapped her in a big towel and only took a little break when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Then she started up again as soon as we moved away.

She screamed and thrashed her way through my attempts at putting a diaper on her clean tush and then fought even harder when I started to put her pajamas on. Putting a wetsuit on an octopus would have been easier.

By the time she was dressed she was still screaming, but begging to be put to bed. I happily obliged.

But did that end the tantrum? No! Of course not. An hour later she was still screaming about the damn cookie that she wasn’t allowed to have after dinner.

I almost caved. Heck, M almost caved. But really, enough is enough. With those huge blue eyes and adorable curls that kid gets away with murder. And tonight I just wasn’t willing to let her win.

I did however take pity on her after a while and went in to comfort her. I picked her out of her crib and held her little sobbing body against my shoulder. She nuzzled her sopping wet face into my neck and murmured something I didn’t catch. I asked her what she had said and listened closely.

“I wanna cookie. Jus one cookie.” She whispered into my ear.

Over an hour she screamed for that one cookie. A cookie she would have taken a single bite out of before abandoning it for a toy.

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5 responses

  • Great Post! I’m not sure if you know this, but the terrible twos don’t end at three – it seems like they go on forever. I really like your approach to trying to get your kids to at least try everything at the table. My kids fight me every step of the way, and its getting old fast. Years from now, it will a funny anecdote, but right now its giving me grey hairs.
    Maria @BOREDmommy

  • Ahhh….My friends all tell me who sweet my boy is, and yes, he is, but I KNOW these days are coming. Way to stand strong. Now just keep it up for 16 or 30 more years. 😉

  • I’m trying to remember if my son was a terrible two twenty-one years ago. I’m thinking he might have been, but I seriously can’t recall. This means either my family history of A;zheimer’s has struck me, or like labor I have forgotten the pain in the joy of what followed.

    An apology is in order, I laughed at the extent of her will. A good thing really, NO ONE will mess with a girl who has a strong will.

  • did you steal my child? I want her back (as long as the tantrum is over!)

  • that sounds like my two year old diva — i mean daughter. most of the time i just cave and feel really guilty afterwards!

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