You know what happened while I slept? My beautiful, angelic baby became a moody, cantankerous toddler.
He’s still not technically walking yet, but Gerber can bite me with their toddler criteria. This kid eats everything. He can kill a steak faster than his father, and he has a propensity for items which will kill him if ingested. Top on the list of non-food items are anything made by Nerf, Legos left within reaching distance by his absentminded brothers, trash (yes, he pulls trash from the trashcan and attempts to ingest it), Tampon applicators (don’t ask). The list is endless. I could go on for days.
I didn’t even realize the toddler-zone had been reached while he slept … until I muttered one word. One single syllable was the gateway drug to Toddlerville, a place which is nice to visit but a bitch to set up residence in. But here we are. Livin’ La Vida Toddler. I walked into his nursery to change his diaper pail, and when I walked out, I found him … full-on standing at the kitchen garbage with a banana peel in his mouth. That’s when I triggered his change from Bruce Banner to the Hulk by saying, “No.”
That was a mistake.
With one “no,” I triggered a temper tantrum worthy of an Academy Award. Mount Vesuvius ain’t got nothing on my little shit.
He. Lost. His. Ever-loving. Mind.
Because I said no … to eating a banana peel.
Now we have entered the tantrum zone. Every time I say “no,” I’m saving this child from mortal peril of some kind, and he loses his shit. We aren’t talking about a small child here either. He is a 32-pound powerhouse wearing 2-year-old clothes with the mindset of a 1-year-old. At his last checkup, my pediatrician looked him in the eye and said, “I’m scared of you.” I think he was kidding. I hope to God he was kidding. That was before toddler-mania ensued.
Now that his dexterity is finally catching up to his brain, I’m seriously fucked. This kid has figured out how to open the childproof lock on the door handles of every room in our house. Do you know how much weight it takes to push those things in so you can move them? I’m no scientist, but it’s a massive amount of pressure. So now I find him playing in the toilet water with a shit-eating grin on his face. And I can’t even blame him. He’s beaten the science of childproofing experts, for crying out loud!
The moral of this story is … CHERISH THE BABY TIME. The time where your child is sedentary and easily movable. Baby time is like having a purse that needs to eat and sometimes shits. Looking back on baby time, I equate that to Paris Hilton having her little dog in a Prada purse over her shoulder. Baby time was a dream compared to this.
Toddlerville is like a marathon with no finish line.
I need to get new sneakers.
Related post: 16 Tips for Surviving the Toddler Years