Two and terrible
Two today. Two years old. As in “Terrible Two”, the first operator of which you’ve actually been since about 1.5, but now we’re making it official. How are you terrible? Let me count the ways…
- Asymmetrical response to any thwarting at all
- Toothpaste-covered toothbrush ≠ lollipop
- Refusal to eat any food now entering third month
- Favorite toys sharp, deadly, insisted upon loudly
- While I realize this F-word thing is entirely my fault, and while it is funny in its way, it’s got to, I mean GOT TO, stop, and soon
- Where is my Malkoviching contact lens case?
- Let’s tidy up your Lego
® s, Adam. Tidy up. TIDY UP. TIDY UP - If you put your foot in that material in your diaper again I am going to be cross with you. It’s not funny. NOT FUNNY!
- I said STOP SPLASHING!
- If you do not stop jumping on her belly there will be NO BROTHER FOR YOU
This list really could go on ad infinitum, but anyone who has a child over 18 months old will know what I am talking about. Anyone else will probably get to find out eventually, and by then we will be laughing at them. But for now, as the arrival date of your brother draws yet nearer, your mama and I are spending ever more time glaring at each other and wondering aloud how in the Malk this is going to work. Your mother and I have come to the conclusion that you are a “high-maintenance” baby, a “needy” baby, which is to say a “spoiled rotten” baby. Adding to the not-inconsiderable vexation of this is the way you compartmentalize your terrorism so that no one but your parents have ever viewed its full wrath. This results in various grandparents, aunties and uncles, care-givers, and other members of your posse thinking that we are total parenting pussies and that you are an angel straight from heaven. Oh, and that we are liars. The good news here is I am confident you will never be able to maintain this charade of yours during our planned Intro to Jealousy when your brother arrives. This means that during their three-week visit, your Auntie C. and cousin Airdan will get a solid blast of your Malkoviching, and they can carry word of the terror back to the New World, so everyone will know our pain.
Also, we’re thinking we need to train you to expect less, ’cause less is what you’re going to be getting when there’s a new baby in town.
This non-eating thing is causing your mother a great deal of stress, as she is the one who lovingly and painstakingly crafts interesting meals packed with variety and nutrition for you, only to watch you sullenly swirl the food about in interesting patterns. I do realize that there is not a parent alive who has not complained about their child’s unwillingness to eat at one time or another, but it really is getting to a worrisome point. You have palpably lost weight, and where before your heft strained my creaky old body, now picking you up is becoming more and more reminiscent of preparing kindling for a fire. You have also begun the charming additional mealtime activities of spitting out nearly-swallowed food, and even of gagging yourself with a finger or fork. The Karen Carpenter thing is no joke, stickman. EAT.
Other than the F-word thing, which mortifies me, we are really enjoying watching your various vocabularies mushroom. You are getting to be a better mimic all the time, and the little games set off by our slightest remark are endlessly entertaining. Maybe not ‘endlessly’, but quite. Some of them. If I happen to say, ‘pan’, say, off you scamper to the pots-and-pans cupboard, there to bash about like Keith Moon for half an hour, or until the downstairs neighbor comes to tell us she’s calling the police, whichever is sooner. No matter what the word-sparked item is, you will manage to invent a Daft Game for yourself involving it, and that game usually escalates quickly into an ungodly howling (see item #1 on list above) when its rules conflict with the laws of physics or decency.
But some of your joys are more benign. A few weeks ago your mother brought home for you a new toy, a terrycloth crescent moon with a giraffe ["it's a COW!" --T-Bone] on it, and you treasure it of all things. It has broken our hearts during the bizarre two-plus weeks of fog and rain just ended to watch you nightly look for your beloved moon — I mean the real, actual moon, not the terrycloth one — only to be bitterly disappointed. I am happy to be able to give you a clear sky on your birthday. Look, Adam: MOOOÑ!
Happy birthday, baby boy! And say the same to your mama. She is eighteen today.
Happy Birthday Adam and T-Bone!
It is my understanding that most families survive this particularly cranky phase of growing up. I, of course, was a perfectly behaved little elf when Adam’s age. Were I to point my Dad here to read this he would cheerfully comment that I speak the truth.
I’m pretty sure.
…Yeah.
*cough*
Comment by Jagosaurus — Tuesday 12 December 06 @ 14.03 MST+2.00
Happy birthday Adam.
If you’ll permit me, some suggestions on the “not eating” thing.
1. Do not “painstakingly craft interesting meals”. Make quick, basic (but still healthy) stuff, so that when it goes to waste, you’ve wasted less time and effort.
2. Pretend not to care whether he eats or not. Once he senses that you really WANT him to eat, his mouth is guaranteed to clamp shut. Also, he can smell fear.
Can’t help you with the F-word thing, sorry.
Comment by Simon — Tuesday 12 December 06 @ 14.49 MST+2.00
Big happy birthday to A-Rock and T-Bone!
Oh how my life resonates with many of these themes.
Bad news is when the relatives see through Adam’s charade and know your pain, they will blame you for his behavior. That’s how it works. If he’s an angel, he came to it naturally. If he’s a monster, it’s your fault.
But anyway, enjoy!
Comment by juliloquy — Tuesday 12 December 06 @ 15.54 MST+2.00
A hearty congratulation to you and to your lovely spouse for making it thus far! Happy Birthday to your energetic and highly-interested son. This is alwys the difficult part of kid-raising, I think. How do you maintain a child’s spirit and enthusiasm without going off the deep end yourself? How do maintain order when dis-order may be his main current interest? He’s just testing you for future reference when he wants to go to Africa by heimself at 16.
Question: In Adam’s second picture where he’s imitating Godzilla before the pounce, he seems to have an imprint on his forehead. A battle scar or nap time blanket head tattoo?
Comment by DarkoV — Tuesday 12 December 06 @ 16.27 MST+2.00
happy, happy birthday to adam and magda!
Comment by kilowatthour — Tuesday 12 December 06 @ 18.35 MST+2.00
A very happy birthday to Adam! Here’s hoping the terrible twos are less terrible than the terrible threes.
Comment by Michael M. — Wednesday 13 December 06 @ 00.54 MST+2.00
This auntie carries the scars of the night she babysat. Then-baby Abum was snuggly and lovely as parents suited up in coats, as goodbyes were said, as the dinner party exited to the garage. Then, eerily, at the moment the car, unseen by Adam, turned in the driveway, when it was too late to call you back… then commenced…
The howling. So long and fierce was this howling that I cannot grapple with the memory, and now my mind draws a merciful haze over it.
I remember thinking, lost though I was in the storm of shrill and horrible, that I really should update my method of contraception.
But he was sleeping when you came home, and I stopped shaking eventually, and I’ll babysit him again anytime. Happy birthdays, sweet girl and sweet boy.
Comment by Elsa — Wednesday 13 December 06 @ 01.54 MST+2.00
Happy Birthday to both of them. It is so difficult to discern who is the more lovely of the two birthday honorees, T-Bone the glaring mafia flower, or Adam, the howling hunger striker.
Love you all, though.
Comment by jdog — Wednesday 13 December 06 @ 04.16 MST+2.00
How do you spell relief? V-R-T-E-C
Comment by Jean — Wednesday 13 December 06 @ 10.22 MST+2.00
Happy belated birthday to the Angelic Adam! And to his lovely mother, the very image of patience.
Heh. The first photo looks like a trailer for the Blair Witch Project, but it’s a great photo. And the second looks like you’ve been pressing his face into a George Foreman grill. Adam may be justified in his use of the “F” word. Just sayin. ;-) He’s a doll.
Comment by Gwynne — Thursday 14 December 06 @ 02.03 MST+2.00
An aside to Elsa: (NOT to Magda)
sounds exactly like childbirth. The merciful haze melts over all memory of the pain so you are willing to do it again.
Comment by gaoo — Thursday 14 December 06 @ 23.12 MST+2.00