Beware of Toddler

Schedules, rhythms, routines, seasons. They were part of my life as a teacher. Motherhood has its rhythms and seasons as well, but routines are unpredictable. As much as classroom teaching was subject to changes based on the varying needs of my growing students, life with small kids is volatile.

If I'd written this post a few days ago, I would have mentioned how Sir Toddler was reaching a happy medium. He's no longer waking up in tears in the middle of the night. He has started napping in his bed, or, if not napping, at least sitting quietly. He's always had a cheerful disposition and for the last year and a half has had an impressive obedient streak for his age. When we went to the playground on Monday, he didn't shy away from the other kids but charmed several school-age children into playing with him (the public schools were out for Rosh Hashanah). I pushed Lady Infant in the swing, chatted with my fellow playgroup moms, and was reveling in reaching the stage where I could more or less let my son play independently on the structures.

Then he fell down the steps and banged his head on the baby-sized structure. I didn't even notice the enormous goose egg welling up on his brow at first because his hat obscured it. (Fortunately, apart from an ugly bruise, he is ok!) Yesterday and today Sir Toddler has had some ugly tantrums over the most mundane things...being forced to choose his snack from what we actually had in the pantry, not wanting to go for a stroller ride (usually one of his favorite things), and not being allowed to play with the trucks at Target because we were pressed for time.

(I bought him a cheapity cheap truck ONCE. For the beach. Two months ago.)

It was an awful moment for everyone (except for Lady Infant, who is usually the fussy party). I wanted to melt into the ground while I pushed my sobbing, screaming, flailing toddler, still sporting his shiner from the playground, to the checkout, braving the palpable discomfort of the other shoppers and employees. I felt like I should have been wearing a T-shirt that said, "I didn't hit my kid! He's usually really good at the store! Please don't judge me!" But there was nothing I could do except ignore him and get through the checkout as quickly as possible.

Indeed it was an awful moment. But it was just a moment. He was over it by the time we got to the car. I'll probably see more public displays of Sir Toddler's burgeoning temper as he learns to communicate his feelings, manage his emotions, and come to terms with a world where he can't get everything he wants. That season has its limit and he'll eventually outgrow these tantrums (I hope!). At the same time, this season I'm also seeing his ability to put together sentences, have short conversations, remember the words to songs and sing snippets independently, and occasionally play with his baby sister. This season, he loves to give me unsolicited hugs and kisses, tells me I'm pretty, and asks me to sing his favorite songs to him. And that season has its limits, too.

Being a parent of small children is hard. It was hard with one baby. It was hard with one toddler. It is hard with a toddler and a baby, and from my brief glimpse into teaching adolescents, I know parenting will still be hard with teenagers. I certainly don't consider myself an expert on parenting, and you won't catch me telling a mom with a screaming baby, "Enjoy them while they're little!"

All I can do is try to get through the bad parts of the season, and savor the good. Because the season won't last.