The Toddler Years, Again?

I remember one day when my oldest, Bubby, was 18 months old and we were on our weekly grocery shopping excursion. With my lists in hand, I planned to make the usual rounds to two grocery stores and the meat store. I enjoyed these little outings because I loved how Bubby seemed to make everyone around him smile. With his red hair, he was a natural attention-grabber and with his his infectious laugh, he made instant friends with all of the elderly people we saw.

Until that one fateful day when he had his first tantrum. We were half-way through our first store when he spotted some sort of cookies on the shelf.

"Cookie!" he exclaimed.

"Not now sweetie, but maybe later," I said gently.

"Cookie, Mommy!" he screamed with more intensity than the last time.

"No no," I said as I tried to steer him into another aisle. "We have cookies in the car."

And then, he uncharacteristically threw his body backwards in the seat and wailed as his face turned red and he kicked his legs.

All I could think was that I had to get out of there quickly. So I paid for whatever groceries were in my cart and struggled to put his little body, stiff with contempt, into his carseat. Needless to say, my weekly morning o' shopping was cut short and I was certain there was something seriously wrong with my child.

So sure, I was, that I made an appointment to see the pediatrician the next day. I just knew Bubby had an ear infection or broken limb or something that would make him act out.

The doctor laughed at me.

Then he informed me that my son was entering the terrible toddler years and to expect much more of this behavior in the months to come. And he warned, "It will get worse before it gets better."

He was right and when Sissy turned 15 months old, I understood what was going on when she turned into "spaghetti arms" one day as we were leaving the library.

"No go," she said.

"We have to go home, Sis, and eat lunch," I replied, calmly, I might add. I grabbed her tiny hand and immediately, she went limp.

I had two choices: I could drag her out of the library by her spaghetti arm or I could pick her up and carry her. The latter was impossible because I had a bag of library books, my diaper bag and Andrew's hand to hold onto. So I tried to gently pull her by her limp arm.

Of course, it wasn't long before I was chastised by a mean lady for abusing my daughter. If there was ever a time I wanted to cuss, that was it. Instead, I continued to pull Sissy and within a few feet, she started walking again.

I was no stranger to the stares and remarks. I had become accustomed to leaving the grocery store halfway through shopping. And I gained the willpower to withstand the tears without giving in.

I endured a solid 4 years of tantrums, irrational behavior, yelling and tears (and the kids weren't angels either - ha!), so why am I so surprised that Chancho has embraced this stage of life with gusto? Did I really think I would escape it this third time around?

Yes, I did.

Before you think I'm crazy, allow me to explain. When Bubby entered the toddler years, I was pregnant and on bedrest. Then when Sissy arrived, he was competing with her for my attention. And when Sissy was a toddler, she was competing with him. Chancho, on the other hand, has so much one-on-one time with me while the older kids are in school, that he seems sick of me sometimes. He never has to ask for anything more than once. He's amply cuddled, forever showered with kisses and the focus of my attention for hours upon hours each day.

And yet, he's the mother of all fit throwers. And I feel less equipped to deal with him than I did with my other two. I was in the toddler mode with them. The schedules, the rules, the consistency and the constant affirmation were all routine. But as they got older, I was able to ease up a little. I didn't stop disciplining, but the process became less exhausting and time consuming. Now, however, I am starting from scratch... again.

So to my two dear friends who I met on two different occasions this week, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the embarrassment that we caused and if we made you uncomfortable in any way. I'm sorry that you had to see me in a moment of weakness as I fell victim to a toddler's tantrums. We may not leave the house for the next year, but I promise you I will prevail and Chancho will pass through this stage no worse for the wear.

And rest assured my dear friends, your time is coming. :)