They don't call them the terrible twos for nothing

This week has been a somewhat taxing one - partly from starting up with classes again, but MOSTLY because the Hatchling has kicked in with the terrible twos in deadly earnest this week, and IT IS WEARING ME OUT. Oh, as long as she's free to do whatever she wants, she's her usual happy, sunny self. But god forbid you should try to in any way guide or curtail her activities: the girl can go from zero to ballistic in .0001 seconds. We were running errands on Wednesday and made MAYBE a twenty minute stop at Kinkos so I could copy some course materials. The entire trip was a disaster. I was THAT PARENT - the one with the terror of a kid who's completely out of control and you kind of think "she must not discipline that kid at all!" God, I hate being that parent. If I hadn't had my damn credit card stuck in the self-serve machine with copies furiously spewing out, I'd just have marched the Hatchling right out of the store, but as it was, we were stuck. All I could do was glare furiously at my daughter, hold on to her flailing body so she couldn't run screaming through the store, and keep up a steady stream of profuse apologies to anyone who would listen. Oof. So that night, recounting it to Mr. Squab, we concluded that perhaps right now is just not a good time to take the Hatchling along on errands. (Which would be just peachy if I had either a personal assistant or a full-time nanny. Ahem.)

But THEN, the next morning I made plans to go to the Children's Museum with some friends, thinking, this should be no problem! It's a whole building expressly designed for the Hatchling's entertainment! HA. It is to laugh. Sure, she was happy as could be exploring the Habitot area and the various activity rooms. But any time I tried to steer her in a particular direction, or make her stay at the table for snacks, or ask her to remove herself from the gift shop, or wait for the elevator - in fact, pretty much any time I tried to impose my clearly fascist, anti-Hatchling, mommy agenda on her, it was tantrum time.

The Hatchling prefers a classic tantrum style: going limp, falling to the floor, screaming and kicking, and then trying to furtively crawl in the direction of the forbidden room/activity. There were about ten of these tantrums during our ninety minute visit to the museum. (We had carpooled with our friends, so again, there was no option of just picking up and leaving.)

I find this behavior completely exhausting, y'all. I do not know how to cope with it. Once she's in tantrum mode, there's almost no way to break her out of it. And she's getting goddamn big to haul around, especially as I grow increasingly pregs. I hope to HELL this is a phase she grows out of - even temporarily - by the time the baby comes. But I have to say, I am increasingly dreading the next year. Between her tantrums and a newborn's sleep irregularities, I honestly do not know how I am going to stay functional. Erk. Anyone have any advice?

We are not enjoying two and a half

I remember at the first ECFE class I took with the Hatchling, the parent coordinator talked to us about how babies and toddlers go through regular fluctuations between equilibrium (when their brains are relatively calm, their skills are somewhat in synch with their desires, etc.) and disequilibrium (when their brains are on fire with learning new things and their desires outpace their skills, etc.) Apparently for most kids, the equilibrium is strongest around birthdays, and the disequilibrium is strongest around half birthdays.

The Hatchling is two years and five months old.

Gone are the days when her brief forays into tantrum-land could be interrupted with the distraction of a toy, a treat, a silly dance, or, god help me, the TV. Now, the most we can hope for is prevention, because once she goes to that tantrumy place, there is nothing on this earth that can snap her out of it before it has run its course. Don't even bother talking to her: the only response you'll get is "NOOOOOOOOO!" whether or not that's an appropriate answer to whatever you've just said. This evening, which was a gorgeous preview of early autumn weather, we went to meet some friends at the Lake Harriet bandshell for a picnic dinner at the pops concert. It had all the makings of a perfect evening - and most of it was really, really nice - but then the Hatchling decided she was done with the picnic a little earlier than the rest of us, and that was it: we had to go. Well, that, or subject several hundred people to the ear-splitting cries of rage that only a 2.5 year old can produce. So Mr. Squab hauled her bodily off to the car, and I packed up our picnic stuff, apologizing to everyone all the while. Major drag, dude.

Of course, once we'd gotten her home and bathed, she was at her most adorable for the rest of the evening, singing along with songs before bed and telling us all about everything in her largely incomprehensible babble. Almost like she KNEW she'd pushed us almost to our limits ...

Whew.

Sorry for the light posting lately. I've been cowering at home, positive that my ultrasound today would show a permanently deformed or even non-existent fetus. But all is well. There's a real live shrimp in there, with a tail and little arm and leg buds and a yolk sac that looks like a thought bubble over its enormous (proportionally) head. No molar pregnancy. No twins (THANK YOU, JESUS). Anxiety is momentarily abated. Also, I got a prescription for anti-nausea medication, and lovely friend L. sent me a super-duper fancy wrist accupressure band (seriously - who has nicer friends than that?), so I'm officially declaring war on the sick feeling.

In other news, the Hatchling counted to 17 yesterday, and has started - completely uncoached, mind you - saying "Soooooo niiiiiiiiiiice" whenever she sees her father take his shirt off.

All is well.

Two Years Old

Dearest Hatchling,
Holy Toledo. You're TWO! I can hardly believe it. Looking back at your 1st year letter, it's like you're a completely different person. You've passed a lot of major milestones this past year, kiddo. Walking, for example. That's a pretty huge one. And talking, also quite huge. You have so many words now I can't even count them all, and you're also turning into quite the mimic. The other night a Subway commercial came on talking about "five dollars for a foot-long" (which if you ask me sounds like nothing so much as a cheap blow job, but then I'm a perv like that) and without even watching the TV, you started saying "fi dolla foo" over and over again. Your father thought it was high-larious. I kind of felt like maybe we should turn off the TV.

Also, hair! You have that now! Which is good, because it would have been awkward going to college essentially hairless. Not that I ever worried about that, at all. No sir-ee bob. I admit that, at this point, I enjoy playing with your hair far more than you enjoy having it played with, but you can revenge yourself on me when you hit fifteen and decide to give yourself a hot-pink mohawk. Good times.

If there's one thing I'll remember from this past year, it's your incredibly joyful nature. You really are just an amazingly exuberant kid. And it's not just your fatuous parents who think so - almost everyone we know comments on it. One of the mothers at your ECFE class wanted to know if you were taking joy pills; another one told me she loved it when you come to class because the mood of the whole room lifts. And it's true! You just love being around people and exploring everything that life throws at you. From the awesome welcome dance + rap that you do when people come over to the house, to the deafening "HIIIIIII" you yell across rooms, across streets, across whatever, coupled with your patented homecoming-queen wave, you're a one-person positivity machine.

Or at least you are about 90 percent of the time. The other 10 percent? That's where the two-year-old/born drama queen thing comes in. As joyously exuberant as you mostly are, when you get riled, you get R-I-L-E-D. You're definitely at that point where your reach exceeds your grasp sometimes, when it does, all hell breaks loose. There is stomping, there is screaming, there is hitting (though you mostly hit the coffee table or other inanimate objects) there is even the occasional rolling on the floor with irate abandon. But at this point, the tantrums really don't happen very often or last very long. (This is where all the parents of older children start laughing to themselves in a just-you-wait kind of way.)

Things you especially love right now: Elmo, cooking in your play kitchen, naked time, going to the park, the kitties, and making new friends. Things you aren't so fond of: being told "no," leaving the park, and getting dressed. "Discipline" is a concept we're just beginning to address, and so far you're not quite hip to how it works. Mostly when we really seriously tell you not to do something you give us a long, semi-verbal "explanation" of why you weren't really doing that, or alternatively why it's actually totally ok for you to do it and we just need to UNDERSTAND. Complete with hand gestures and an oh-so-reasonable tone of voice. It's pretty freaking funny. We can't wait until you can completely talk, because I'm sure your rationalizations will be worth their weight in comic gold.

You're getting to be such a big girl, Hatchling. Not just size-wise, though your growth continues to be so off the charts that I have to reassure parents on the playground that you're not a retarded 3 year old ("Ohhhh, she's only two! That makes a lot more sense"). It's also your mental and emotional development that's come so far. We're in a new ECFE class where the parents separate from the children about 1/2 way through. On our first day I was preparing myself for a major meltdown, as that's been your usual response to me leaving you even just to go upstairs to the bathroom. But you did so great! I told you I was going to go across the hall for a little while, and then I'd be back, and after a hug you said "OK" and "bye, mama" just like it was no big deal. I was so proud of you, and so relieved, and just a little teensy tiny bit sad that you're getting to be so grown up.

It sure is nice having you around, kid. We love you the mostest, and we can't wait to spend another year together. Happy Birthday.

Love,
Mamala