Tough

You know what's tough?  Parenting an almost 2 year old.  Some days I feel like I'm at the end of my rope, with the knot completely untied, hanging on to the last little bits of frayed ends, hoping that I can just keep holding on long enough to make it to bedtime.  And then we make it to bedtime, and the rope just unravels further.  And before I know it, it's almost midnight and I'm crawling into bed, holding my breath and saying silent prayers that Nick will sleep through the night, only to be awoken a mere two hours later to a hysterical toddler that can't be consoled because all he wants is to watch Dora in the middle of the night or play with the damn vacuum cleaner and the only way to calm him down is to let him sleep the remainder of the night right between us in our bed.

Ask me how the making of baby #2 is going?  Obviously, it's not. 

Most days Nick is the cutest, sweetest, kindest, most helpful little person ever created.  But lately it's as if he has an invisible switch on his back that someone keeps flipping the minute I start to think about how wonderful it would be to have another baby so that I could officially be mommy to TWO of the cutest, sweetest, kindest, most helpful little people ever created.

For instance, last week, we were going about our morning routine as usual.  I opened the pantry to get out some cheerios for Nick - the same cheerios he eats every.single.morning. like "omg these cheerios are my main squeeze, ma, I love you so much for buying me cardboard cereal with no taste!" - when he spotted the bag of baby goldfish.  Unfortunately I had left them within his reach, so he pulled them off the shelf before I could deflect his little grabby hands.  Holy shit, you'd think I had just ripped the head off his favorite teddy bear.  Dude had a monster meltdown when I told him "oh, we'll have those later for a snack - let's have some cheerios and milk for breakfast instead!" (not to mention the cheerful demeanor and loving hug I gave him with my encouraging words).  Seriously, his screams and sobs got so intense I thought he was going to pass out from the lack of air he was taking in.  Todd came running down the stairs in a panic and said "geez, what happened?!" "Oh, nothing honey, I just thought I'd brand him with a hot poker real quick before breakfast...what the hell do you think happened??  He wanted freaking goldfish for breakfast and I said no!"

To make matters worse, Nick still isn't talking.  He knows a lot more signs, which is super helpful.  He can tell us when he wants "more" of something, signs "please" when he's begging for Dora (or goldfish), and signs "thank you" for just about everything - even when he does something that we should be saying thank you to him for.  But the speech therapist has a tiny inkling that Nick might have Childhood Apraxia of Speech.  I say tiny because she says he is still too young and does not have enough "data" (or words rather) to analyze if he truly is apraxic.  Is it the end of the world?  Not even close.  Will he ever be able to speak properly?  Absolutely.  Does it suck?  You have no idea.

It sucks because I see so many other toddlers happily singing the worlds to "Old MacDonald" and counting in their sweet little "one, two, free!" voices, and Nick can barely call me Mama.  Little man is so smart it's ridiculous.  He knows every letter of the alphabet and all of his numbers 1-10.  At Thanksgiving dinner, we were asking him to run into the other room and bring us certain letters - not even in correct alphabetical order - and he got it right every time.  But it sucks so bad that I can't help him to properly say what each letter is.  I can't help him explain to me what it is that he wants in the middle of the night when he wakes up crying because the only word in his arsenal that we really understand is "Dora" and I don't want to plant any ideas in his head at 2am by saying "oh, you want to watch Dora right now?  Is that why you're crying?" 

I'm sure all of the above is directly related.  I'm sure his frustration and temper tantrums stem from his inability to just tell us what's wrong, what he needs, or what he wants to do.  And I understand that.  But it doesn't make it any easier.  As parents, all we want is to make our children happy.  To make them feel loved.  And I am doing my best.  Todd and I both are.  It's just a bit more exhausting than I could have ever prepared myself for. 

I know I shouldn't be complaining.  In the grand scheme of things 1) I have a beautiful, smart, loving, kind, generous, innocent child - something some people pray for and are never lucky enough to have, and 2) aside from not being able to get out the words he wants to say, he is perfectly healthy, growing like a weed, and learning so much every day.  I love my son with every single fiber of my being and I wouldn't trade him for anyone or anything in this entire world.  I would absolutely throw myself in front of a bus for him.  I'm just over the terrible two phase.  And he's not even two.  Guess I better settle in for a long ride. 

 

Whoever told me "God makes 'em cute for a reason: so you just can't stay mad at 'em" sure as hell wasn't lying.  It's damn near impossible for me to stay mad at that face.