A photo journal comprised of my thoughts on motherhood and other life happenings, as well as some of professional work as a photographer. Southern California is home.
The terrible twos seem to be a thing of the past. In hindsight (damn hindsight for always being so perfectly clear), much of Hooper’s behavior was probably connected to that little munchkin of a brother we just plopped into his life and expected him to openly embrace. Much of the acting out in general has calmed considerably. I can’t remember the last time I had to give him a time out or pull him off to the side or disciplined him in that way where if looks could kill he’d be dead. Of course, he has his days. He is still two.
Majority of the day, he’s my little buddy. I love this age so much that I still find myself wishing Van would hurry up and catch up even though I know I ought to be appreciating the fleeting stages he’s growing out of faster than I can say “slow the f*&# down”. Motherhood is like that: a dichotomy of hurry up, would ya? and slow down already, speedy speederton. Why can’t someone invent a mom remote?
I digress. Hooper has been all kinds of sweet. He’s playful and warm, friendly and inviting, cautious but mischievous. He loves to laugh, he loves to have your attention, he loves dance and jump and go crazy. This kid is really something special.
Hooper has changed overnight. Like seriously, he’s a new kid. I started writing a post on the “terrible twos” just two days ago and it’s already outdated as I described him from being far from “terrible”. Today, he’s all kinds of terrible. I feel as though the toddler gods fill you up with all kinds of love and attachment and patience during the first two years because they know you’ll need to pull some from your reserves when your child turns two and you don’t like them anymore. I called Hooper an asshole today. Not to his face, of course, but more times than I should have behind his back.
What kind of behavior warrants calling your two year old an asshole, you wonder? I’ve been smacked in the face. A lot. It almost always occurs when I’m holding him and looking for a little affection; Affection he used to give me all the time. It also happens when I drop down to his level to put him in check. There’s nothing more infuriating than scolding your child only to get smacked in the face as if to say, “Yeah mom, I heard what you said but please allow my hand across your face to remind you that I don’t give a shit”. I’ve had to take a lot of deep breaths these last few days.
Other things he’s doing that are pissing me off and making me turn to wine at the end of the day even though I feel like turning to a whole bottle of wine to start my day (and yes, that is intentionally a run-on sentence): Throwing toys, spitting, spitting out his milk, taking toys from his brother, hitting Sarah, and kicking me while changing his diaper. He has also started to fold his arms across his chest as if to say, “Go suck a dick, I’m not happy”, only he still uses this body language at inappropriate times so I guess it’s still endearing; but the endearing part is still debatable.
Much of parenting is a learn-as-you-go process. We had been punishing him by putting him in the corner and calmly explaining that we can’t hit or throw or whatever. Then we’d count to ten and end the time out with a hug, after making him say “sorry”. I no longer have the patience to calmly scold; now I put him in the corner and yell, for emphasis ya know? But clearly, it’s not working. Counting to ten has done nothing other than teach him how to count. Seriously, he counted clear as day to six yesterday. That’s probably when his attention span runs out, otherwise he’d know that seven ate nine. So, I turn to my lovely readers for the touchy subject of how to discipline your lovely toddler. Please share your opinions and suggestions.
Hey Hooper, just for the record, Van is my new favorite. Shape up, you little asshole.
