You’ve seen it before…
You’re in the mall, at a restaurant, in line at Target, at the grocery store, shopping or eating in peace when all of a sudden it sounds like an animal is being slaughtered. Ear piecing screams shatter the peaceful atmosphere as everyone stops wherever they’re at to ascertain the location of the disturbance. As the commotion gets louder, your eyes scan the area around you back & forth, you step out of the aisle, perhaps try to peer over at the next register, and then you zero in on a painful sight.
There’s no animal being sacrificed, no demon being exorcised…it’s just some kid going bat s*it crazy on their poor parent. Embarrassed and red in the face, the parent tries to calm their little terror down by employing all the SWAT team & verbal judo tactics they learned in those parenting books. This only seems to fan the flames of the meltdown as the child resorts to more animistic sounds and flailing about on the floor, face purple from the rage boiling over inside of them.
At this point I’ve only ever seen one of two things happen: either the parent scoops up the kid and flees the store while being pummeled by tiny fists of fury, crushed & mortified, OR the meltdown and failed attempts to squash it tip the parent over the edge of their sanity and they resort to either screaming right back at the child, or lowering their voice to just above a whisper and starting to issue threats that range from bodily harm to being left at the store.
I’ve witnessed this countless times. Before I had children, I used to be one of those people who just stare in disapproval, shaking their heads and whispering to the person next to them how THEY would handle the situation. Yea. I’m ashamed to say I was one of those people. The ones who just stare & cast judgement like they’ve got some kind of f*cking degree in child rearing that you, the one who pushed the little barbarian out, don’t. ”Oh I wouldn’t have that. Nope. My child would know better than to embarrass me like that, shoooooot.” (Insert finger snapping & neck rolling here, if you’d like.) ” I wish they would. I’d snatch them up in a heartbeat! There’s no way I’d let my child get that out of control.” (Yea, I was pretty stupid before I had kids, but in my defense I was young and childless-my middle name was Naive.)
Once I had Brennan though, my attitude changed of course. It went from thinking I knew how my child wouldn’t act, to asking God to get us in and out of public places without incident. For the most part, God heard my supplications & was merciful. Brennan was the model toddler. No public scream fests, I never had to exorcise any demons at Target, and thankfully, any tantrums he did have were easily subdued.
Then I had Alex. I knew within months he was going to be that kid, and I would become that mom… you know the one trying to desperately talk down a two year old who’s losing their s*it because he ran out of milk in his sippy cup? Yea, I knew that was going to be me.
How did I know, you ask? Well, there were clues. As an infant, he cried all. the. time. He despised car rides and never let us get through one without unleashing his wrath. The older he’s gotten, the more independent he’s become. I mean fiercely independent. He has to do things his way, and in his time. You can’t feed him. Changing his diaper is a WWE match punctuated with screams. My boy is so picky he’s gone from eating whole Chic-Fil-A nuggets (no other nuggets will do) to only eating the corners of them. If he’s not happy about something, trust and believe he’s going to vocalize his discontent over it. Change the channel? Tantrum. A commercial comes on? Ear piercing screams. Tell him he has to wait until after dinner for his daily PediaSure hit? You’re getting cussed out in toddler speak. Catch him dancing to the Fresh Beat Band and say “yay! Go Alex!” and he’s prostrate on the floor, hands covering eyes, face distorted in a scowl. Tell him it’s time to go bye bye and take too long to get to the door? Tasmanian devil-sized meltdown.
Screams. Scowls. Body flailing. Fists of fury. Anger. Aggression. He’s full of all of it, and I’m completely lost as to how to handle any of it. Do I fall out on the floor with him? Discipline him? How? Since he turned 2 in April we’ve been treated to shouts of “NOOOO!!!!!” while either hitting one of us, pushing Brennan, or launching something across the room. Sometimes it’s whatever’s next to him or in his hand, others it’s his actual body.
It was manageable when he was 1. It’s become hell now that he’s 2. His father and I have been trying everything to keep from resorting to how our parents dealt with us…you know, with a back hand. These days, if you were to eavesdrop outside our door, you’re sure to hear lots of “NOOOOOOOOO!” “Do you want timeout?!” “NO! NO! (more toddler gibberish) NO!” I’m buying a special “time out chair” next week. We’ll see how effective it is.
Yep. I’ve become that mom who has that kid. Maybe we’ll just become a family of recluses. Stay inside until he’s 10…or 30. Or maybe we’ll be the family the entire store is staring at as we try to navigate the Terrible Two’s without losing our sanity…or going to jail.
Just do me a favor: If you happen to see me fleeing Target with a screaming, purple-faced Alex, be a friend. Chase after me and tell me it’s going to be okay and he’ll grow out of it eventually. Also? Bring Tequila. Patron if you can swing it.
*Note: Alex is an awesome kid. Full of laughter and rambunctious energy. I love him to death, but I had to vent about this Terrible Two nonsense. It’s testing the limits of my sanity*
**This post is part of All Work & No Play Makes Mommy Go Something Something’s Secret Mommyhood Confession link up. You can read the rest of these posts, add your own, and more by clicking here**